Come To Me
by Pied Piper
Summary: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check.
1. I'll Be Kind, If You'll Be Faithful

**Come To Me**

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**Summary: **After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note:** Please enjoy this new, hopefully mostly humorous, chaptered short story. It will be told in approximately twenty-four lyrical chapters, inspired by the song that also gives its title (for brevity's sake, I have omitted the song's bridge and used the chorus only once). Thanks for reading.

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_I'll be kind if you'll be faithful_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

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With two hours left until the guests were to arrive, Tachikawa Mimi was running out of time. Her thin, short fingers worked quickly on the finishing touches for the appetizers, while every few seconds she nervously glanced at the bar beside her. The bartender was wiping down all the glasses, setting each in a row on the counter. The tower was growing steadily, and there did not seem to be enough space to accommodate all the silver cups. Slowly, the line of glasses began edging over the counter and onto the adjoining table. Her table. She glowered, distracted by the man's inability to keep his work off her own, then attempted to focus on the last of the appetizer trays.

Satisfied, she threw the oblivious bartender another annoyed glare, then darted past the waiters and vendors in the large dining hall, slipping into the kitchen next door. Her head chef was barking out orders at the assistants working at the different tables and stoves, his voice far more commanding than she ever seemed to make hers sound. She was grateful for his discipline, though she wished he would fix his hair net. The last thing she needed was for one his unkempt, thick maroon locks to make its way onto a guest's plate.

Walking through the larger kitchen, she bustled into the smaller baker's kitchen at the far side of the room, stopping at the door to pull off her gloves. The last task before the event was to finish the last touches on the wedding cake, and she would need all the dexterity in her fingers to pull off the intricate details with steady hands.

Moving to the other end of the table on which the cake stood majestically on its towering platter, she picked up her icing bag, leaned forward, bit her bottom lip, and concentrated.

"Do you always stick out your tongue like that when you're working?"

Mimi shrieked, scared by the unexpected and unfamiliar voice, and spun around, dropping the icing bag on the table.

In the corner of the room stood a tall young man in a dark black suit and a pink and white pinstriped tie. He wore a peony flower in the lapel of his jacket, his entire attire demonstrating a sense of ceremony and importance. But the way he carried himself indicated nothing of the sort. He was slouched, shoulders hunched and eyes lackluster. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, and when he spoke, it was distracted and hoarse.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, breathless from the shock of seeing another person—uninvited—in her kitchens. Dealing with a nosy guest was the last thing she needed now.

"I was going to go to a wedding," he answered simply, eyes half open as though he were squinting.

Mimi appraised him carefully, uncertain.

"I think it's about to start," she said.

"Not without me," he answered, and this time, he smiled.

His strange passivity disappeared when he grinned, and the light in his eyes seemed to grow in amusement. He straightened where he stood, hands still in his pockets, then walked towards the cake table, circling it—and her—slowly as he examined each part of the design. She stared at him apprehensively, wondering how to politely tell him to get lost so she could get back to her duties.

Then he stopped on the other side of the table and whistled lowly. "Did you do all this?"

"Yes," she said, feeling a bit of her confidence return at his admiration of her craftsmanship. Flattery took the edge off her anxious nerves, and she lifted her chin. "All of it."

"It's impressive," he said, nodding his approval.

Then, without hesitating, he reached out a hand and deftly lifted the sugar figurine of the groom off the top of the highest tier. She gave a small cry of shock, horror struck at the thought of his rough fingers damaging all the tiny details she had carved so painstakingly. "Be careful with that!" she protested. "It's not a toy!"

He looked amused. "It's very good."

His compliments were distracting her, and she grew flustered, attempting to put her foot down. "Listen, I don't know who you are but—,"

"You don't?" He seemed surprised, but then he relaxed, nodding his head. "That's right. You worked with her setting up everything for us tonight, didn't you?" He lifted the little figure next to his own face, smirking. "Still can't see the resemblance?"

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, realization dawning on her stunned face. _The groom._

Mimi took a hard, accusing look at him, but was startled again to see him in perspective—and the perspective was disconcerting. What she thought was amusement seemed more like bitterness, the kind that could only mask pain, and she hesitated, eyeing him carefully. "Are you all right?"

He only continued running his fingers over the little figurine, smiling to himself. "Can I keep this?"

"It's made of sugar," she said. "It will fall apart."

The smile grew wider and he winked at her. "A perfect likeness, then."

His fingers wrapped around the little figure, forming a fist, and she saw the smile on his face disappear.

The doors to the kitchen opened, and they were discovered by an anxious looking young woman who stumbled into the room in high heels she evidently was not used to wearing. She wore a satin pink floor-length gown with white peonies tucked behind her ear, the sheer shawl around her shoulders clasped together with another matching flower. Her lipstick shimmered in the fluorescent lights as her mouth pulled into a relieved sigh when she saw the man.

"There you are!" She went to him at once, pulling on his free hand. "We've all been looking for you everywhere."

"Hikari—," he said in a calm voice, but she still fussed over him worriedly.

"Everyone's waiting alrea—,"

"She's not coming, Hikari."

The woman stopped, hearing his serious tone at last. "Who's not coming?"

He looked at her, saying nothing, then bowed his head as though he couldn't bear telling her the news again. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she considered his meaning, then suddenly she gave a gasp, hand flying to her mouth.

Mimi realized what had happened at the same time as the other woman did, and her stomach dropped, mouth dry.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked him, whispering.

In reply, he produced a letter from the envelope peeking out from his pocket. She took it, opening it quickly, and when she looked up again, her expression was pained and crestfallen.

"Oh, Taichi."

He ran trembling hands through unruly brown hair and shrugged, smiling through tightly closed lips.

The woman looked as though she was about to cry, and Mimi knew she could not linger in their background so awkwardly anymore. Wanting to give them privacy to deal with the sudden situation, she cleared her throat, but her anxiousness made her sound like a strangled bird squeaking for attention. The pair looked at her, and she tried her best to look professional.

"Perhaps I should go," she offered after a hesitant moment.

"We are so sorry to trouble you in your work," the woman said to her in a kind voice, placing one hand on the man's arm as she spoke. "But I do not think we will be having the dinner now—,"

"No," he interrupted.

Both women looked at him, surprised, and he shook his head. "Why spoil the fun? We can at least have the party, can't we?"

"Taichi…," the woman said softly, her eyes softening with concern.

But the man was insistent, his smile stronger on his lips. He nodded at Mimi, who was still confused, her mouth parted slightly. "No sense in having all your hard work go to waste. You should see how she made the little figures for the cake, Hikari." He raised the miniature groom to his cheek again, lifting a mischievous eyebrow. "Don't you think it looks just like me?"

"You don't have to do this," she replied, ignoring his laughter, or perhaps seeing through it.

He did not let his mask down though, not in front of her. Instead, he gave her a friendly pat over the hand she had on his arm, squeezing her fingers.

"Yes, I do," he said, and Mimi saw the woman hide a frown in her trembling smile.

Mimi again thought she was intruding, and this time she attempted to scuttle by them, back pressed against the wall as she felt her way around blindly. Her foot hit the edge of the table, however, and the steel bowl of freshly whipped cream slammed into the floor, flicking the white foam all across the room—and all over the woman's beautiful pink dress.

Mimi froze, horrified, but the man just started laughing, trying to scuff off the cream from his newly polished black shoes, and even the woman had to suppress a giggle, immediately assuring the caterer that there was nothing to worry about, though Mimi's face remained an embarrassed red well after they parted ways.

For the rest of the evening, Mimi worked tirelessly to make sure everything went well at the dinner, because serving a good meal was all she really ever could do in difficult times. She was not sure how much her efforts were noticed, but she was convinced they were appreciated. She had taken the task of informing her assistants of the change in the situation, while she overheard the groom explaining the same to the wedding guests as they began to arrive in the dining hall, shuttled in from the ceremony that had been cancelled just as they arrived.

As she worked, she would spy him occasionally around the room, speaking and joking with different groups of people, sometimes next to the woman in the pink gown and sometimes with others who always matched each of his cheerful antics with greater ones of their own. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the guests—the ones who had remained for the party anyway—to have as much raucous fun as possible, for his sake, and they were quickly achieving their goal with all the alarming enthusiasm of a teenage house party with no adult supervision.

Before long, the party had descended into an all-out drunken debauchery. When it was time for Mimi to leave, after the last of the leftovers had been packed away and the vendors were cleaning up, the festivities were still carrying on, fueled by emergency trips to fetch more liquor from the nearest all night mini-mart. Before she left, she glimpsed two groomsmen affixing bottles of beer to each of their hands with tape, while some of the other guests were dancing barefoot on what would have been the newlyweds' dining table, and still others singing wildly to terrible karaoke. She did not see the groom anywhere, however, or the woman in pink.

She took the subway home, switching trains twice, and finally reached her tiny, uptown apartment well into the small hours of the morning. Her eyes were red and itchy when she entered the flat, mumbling a greeting as she slipped off her shoes.

"Welcome home," was the answer, and her boyfriend looked up from his laptop, smiling at her. He wore a plain white T-shirt over blue pajama bottoms, his ankles crossed over the coffee table with his computer in his lap. Her eyes rested on his feet on the table, and he quickly removed them, sheepish, remembering her pet peeve too late. "How was the event?"

"Long," she answered with a sigh, flopping down on the couch next to him.

He lifted an arm so she could snuggle into his shoulder, eyes closed. "Was the wedding nice?"

"There wasn't one," she said. "Bride called it off just before the ceremony."

Kido Jyou raised an eyebrow, shocked. "She did what?" he asked, horrified at the thought. "That's terrible. Was the groom all right? What happened?"

Mimi winched, remembering the scene in the kitchen. "I don't know, really. It was all kind of sudden. But the strange thing was, everyone went on to have the dinner and party as normal. They're actually all still there, even though all the vendors' contracts were over."

Jyou was thoughtful. "I guess that's just how some people deal with pain."

"With a party?"

"With therapy."

Mimi considered his answer before responding. "It felt more like denial than therapy, but I guess everyone did look like they were having fun."

Jyou smiled. "Well that's good. It'll be nice to have some good memories."

Mimi agreed, but her thoughts were stuck on the way the groom clutched his little sugar miniature in his fist all night, a grin on his face.

Shaking her head, she sat up with one hand on the back of the laptop. She gave him her best practiced frown, pursing her lips, and he threw his head back on the couch, groaning. "I know, I know. I just have to finish filing these diagnosis reports. I'll only be ten minutes."

"You always say that," she pointed out, "and then it turns into twenty minutes, then forty, then sixty—,"

"You've made your point," he interrupted her gently, smiling. "I'll be in real soon. I promise."

Mimi shrugged her narrow shoulders, rising from the couch and tossing her chin in the air. "Of course, you will."

And as she walked by him towards their bedroom, she stopped at the entrance to the hallway, slyly glanced back at him, and wiggled her backside suggestively. He laughed, his chuckle like a deep and comforting anchor pulling the stress and worry like a weight off her chest.

He kept his promise, meeting her in her arms much sooner than he had said.


	2. You Be Sweet And I'll Be Grateful

**Come To Me**

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**Summary: **After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

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_You be sweet and I'll be grateful_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

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Takenouchi Sora, upon entering, first thought that the hotel room looked like a natural disaster, but then she decided that would be offensive to an actual natural disaster. No, this was an altogether different kind of wreckage. Shirts, jackets, ties, and shoes had been thrown everywhere; half-empty (or was it half-full?) bottles of champagne and cans of beer littered every available surface not already dedicated to shrines of takeout food and boxes from the catered feast stacked in unsteady towers. The entire room smelled of stale musk, alcohol, fine dining food, and pizza grease, a combination that was not in any way pleasant.

Sora grimaced, stepping lithely around the double beds and in between scattered shot glasses and passed out men. She ignored the snoring and heavy breathing, eyes scanning over each disheveled head poking out from under a mess of wrinkled clothes and crumpled sheets. Not finding the person she was looking for, she retreated from the smelly room and decided to try the suite next door—but then she stopped.

He was lying on the bathroom floor with the door wide open and the lights still on, sprawled on his side around the commode. His suit jacket was missing, his shirt front was stained and unbuttoned to the mid-chest, and one pant leg was rolled all the way up to reveal a bare calf. She stared at the hairless leg, her gaze travelling up to his face slowly. His mouth was hanging open, and there was a large bruise covering his left eye.

With a sigh, Sora kicked him.

Yagami Taichi gave a start, sat up quickly, and immediately groaned, clutching his stomach. Sora stepped back, wary, but Taichi waved a reassuring hand at her, face screwed up in a painful wince.

"There's nothing left to puke out," he said, his voice rough and hoarse as though he had been shouting, and Sora remembered the karaoke machine with another shudder.

Then he frowned, fingering the edge of the bruise under his swollen eye, "What happened to my face?"

"Yamato hit you."

This was not a particularly unusual event, so Taichi did not react with surprise or indignation. "I suppose I deserved it?"

Sora crossed her arms over her chest, hesitating, and then admitted in a soft voice, "You kept trying to call her."

"Ah." Taichi poked at his bruise some more and Sora was not sure what else to say in the silence that fell between them.

She observed him closely, studying his face, but he stared at the floor as he rubbed his sore cheek, deliberately keeping his gaze from hers. She always thought she knew him better than anyone else, but sometimes, he was still a mystery. She was not sure how that made her feel, to know he kept parts of himself hidden from even his closest friends, but she knew it was only out of some misguided sense of protection and pride. She wanted to tell him he didn't have to be so brave around her, that it was all right, but she didn't even know where to start or if it even really was all right. All she knew was that she hated seeing him so miserable, and she hated it even more when he pretended he wasn't.

His eyes trailed over his exposed leg and he gaped at it. "Why is my leg shaved?"

Sora rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Why wouldn't it be? You were drinking champagne and beer all night, and that was before the tequila shots. I'm surprised you didn't get something pierced or tattooed." She paused, only just then realizing that he was likely beginning the process by shaving the hair off his leg. She was suddenly grateful that the unhealthy mix of liquor kept him away from tattoo parlors and had him hurling out the stupidity with his guts all night instead.

"Well, I wasn't drunk enough to cut myself with the razor," he pointed out, sounding pleased about this evidently incredible demonstration of self-control.

Sora was not nearly as impressed. "That's because Takeru did it. Drunk. So he cut his hand instead of your leg."

Awed by such a noble sacrifice, Taichi nodded solemnly, "He's a good friend."

"Taichi," she said in irritation, "I am not trying to tell you what to do, but do you really think this is the right way to be acting right now?"

"How should I be acting?"

It wasn't a defensive question, nor did he sound like he was as frustrated with her for putting his behavior on check as she seemed to be with him for not. It was, instead, an honest and quiet remark, spoken like he was hoping she would tell him exactly what to do, asking for someone to make sense of the senseless.

Sora chewed on her bottom lip, uncertain. "I don't know," she admitted at last. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

His smile was genuine in response, though small. "I'm okay." His words had every ounce of reassurance, while his eyes had nothing of the sort.

"You know you're a really bad liar, don't you?"

"Well, I know she didn't want to marry me."

Her heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her chest.

He shrugged, scratching the now smooth skin of his knee and unrolling the pant leg. He spoke conversationally, as though the topic wasn't the sudden and violent end of what he thought his life was going to be. "She wanted to before, but she stopped wanting to yesterday." He searched her face, and in his eyes was a helplessness and confusion she had never seen before. "Didn't she—I mean, did she say anything, to you or maybe—when you saw her, did she sound like she was—?"

"Taichi. Stop."

And he did.

She was shaken, hearing him talk like that, and the startled thundering of her heart turned into a fierce anger. She curled her fingers into fists and had to take a moment to even her breathing, her desire to lash out and run to his defense becoming momentarily overwhelming. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, blinking back furious tears, and forced a smile at him, though his gaze had dropped to the floor again and he did not notice her reaction.

"Otherwise I'll have to hit you, too," she added as a joking afterthought to calm herself as much as to lighten the mood, and he smiled at his hands in his lap.

"I'm not that much up for a matching pair right now," he said with a chuckle, pointing to his black eye. "I appreciate the offer though."

"Anytime."

With a low groan, he started to pull himself up to his feet, holding his head. "But you should feel free to tell your boyfriend thanks for the terrific shiner."

Sora hesitated again, opening her mouth to tell him the truth, then thought better of it. "Tell him yourself. He's waiting in the lobby."

"I don't need an escort home," Taichi protested, but they knew him too well.

"Come on," she smiled, "go get your things."

But he stopped in his tracks as they walked out of the bathroom, stiff and uncomfortable.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

He shook his head, nervously running fingers through his uncombed hair. "It's, ah...my stuff."

She understood his meaning immediately, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Don't worry about it," she said cheerfully, grinning. "You go on downstairs and find Yamato. I'll go get your suitcase."

But he shrugged off her touch, and for the first time in their conversation, he looked irritated. "No," he said in a determined voice, squaring his shoulders. "I'll go."

She quickly followed after him as he threw open the door, and together they strode along the long carpeted hallway of the hotel corridor, ascending the stairs one flight, and stopped, finally, in front of one of the more expensive rooms in the building: the honeymoon suite. Taichi pulled out his key, unused.

Sora watched him apprehensively, but in the next moment, Taichi raised his chin in defiance and unlocked the door.

The room was beautiful.

Floor-to-ceiling windows with velvet curtains lined the far side of the wall, and the furniture included several cushioned chairs and a fainting couch that faced the balcony doors. There were white rose petals leaving a trail from the door to the balcony, and all around the king-sized bed, upon which were arranged a collection of heart-shaped pillows. In the middle sat a fluffy red teddy bear outfitted in a miniature tux and holding hands—Sora assumed it was with Velcro—with another bear dressed in a veil and white dress. Both their stomachs were imprinted with the cringe worthy phrase "I love you beary much."

Sora hoped it wasn't Taichi who had approved such a ridiculous centerpiece. She thought again of the only other person who would have arranged this, and she glowered, hands turning into fists again.

Beside the bed was an ice bucket, now melted, containing a bottle of expensive champagne, and a huge bouquet of flowers were placed delicately in each corner of the luxury suite. Each one boasted a congratulations to the new "Mr. and Mrs. Yagami Taichi."

There was no trace of her anywhere. No suitcase, no clothes, nothing.

She had a done a thorough job of it, Sora thought to herself bitterly, and then gave a start when she saw Taichi approach the bed and reach for the bears. He separated their hands, lifting each one up in either of his own.

He glanced between them, nose wrinkled. "You know, these looked a lot better in the catalog. I feel like they weren't this red in the pictures."

She gaped at him, stunned. "You mean...," she began slowly, "...you did pick them?"

He shot her a look, wounded that she would think he would voluntarily browse through stuffed animal gift brochures in his leisure time. "It came with the room, and we could pick the style from their catalog. I didn't pick this exact one; she did. I wanted the otters, but the bears came with the outfits and the otters didn't, so she picked the bears." He released the stuffed animals, and they toppled lightly onto the mattress. "We did do some of the planning together, you know. I wasn't always unavailable to her—,"

"You were never unavailable," she interrupted at once, and the harsh conviction in her voice made him stare at her wide-eyed. Her face flushed a deep red at her outburst, matching the auburn of her hair, and she turned away from him to avoid his scrutiny, opening the closet.

She froze.

He laughed, rubbing his face. "It's not like she could really take that with her."

Sora couldn't move, blinking back frustrated tears. Everything seemed to be coming apart all at the same time, and looking at this gorgeous white dress just made it worse. Her anger left her, her empathy disappeared. These things weren't supposed to happen to him, to them.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned immediately towards him, bursting into tears, and buried her face in his chest, arms flung around his neck. His hands went around her waist, rubbing her back comfortingly. He teased into her ear, "She left me, Sora. Not you."

That just made her cry harder, uncontrollably. She became angry at herself for the unusual emotional outburst, but she couldn't stop herself now that it had started. After a few moments, her cries turned into hiccups and he pushed her back gently, tilting her face up with a finger under her chin. Her eyes were watery and red, and her nose runny. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt down and rubbed her nose dry for her, and she made a face at him, heaving shuddering gasps of laughter.

"I'm sorry," she said, though she was not quite sure why she was apologizing.

"It's okay," he replied with an honest smile.

"I should be telling you that," she said between hiccups.

With another reassuring smile, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head in response. Letting her go, Taichi reached past her into the closet and pushed the wedding dress aside to get to his suitcase. He dragged it over to the bed, snapped the locks open, digging out a change of clothes. Sora dried her splotchy red face as best she could while he changed in the bathroom, rolling up what was left of his suit and stuffing it back into the luggage carrier once he'd reemerged into the room. Setting the bag onto the ground, he gave the suite the once-over, a wistful frown on his lips.

"Maybe you and Yamato should cross this place off your list," he told her jokingly. "It might be cursed."

She rolled her eyes, feeling her nerves settle, if a little bit uneasily, at his calm demeanor.

When they got down to the lobby, they were met with a very disgruntled blond-haired man. He was leaning against the wall across from the elevator banks, blue eyes narrowed and foot tapping on the ground, a distracted habit of his he had picked up from his chain-smoking neurotic father. He wore dark denim jeans with a black polo shirt, and his hard expression faltered when he saw Sora's puffy red eyes. She immediately diverted her gaze elsewhere, and he resumed his annoyed scowl.

"What took you so long?"

Taichi held up his hands in mock surrender. "In my defense, I just got left at the altar."

Ishida Yamato frowned deeply at his joking humor, but he chose instead to change the subject. "Got everything?"

"Mostly everything," Taichi said with another laugh, but neither of his friends were amused anymore.

They exchanged a look, the kind that couples in long-term relationships were required to master to become essentially one being, but then Sora broke her gaze, biting her lip uncomfortably. Yamato nodded at the front desk, behind which stood two tight-lipped concierge staff members, uniformed in matching black suits. Taichi understood, leaving his suitcase behind as he sauntered up to the desk to cheerfully check out, his loud amusement at doing so thoroughly confusing the soft spoken man reservedly assisting him.

As they waited, Sora could feel Yamato's eyes settle on her, but she continued to study the tiled floor of the lobby instead.

"Do you want a lift?" he asked her softly, and she shook her head.

"I'll take a taxi." Then she looked up, suddenly remembering what it meant for Yamato to be taking Taichi home. "Wait," she stammered, horrified, "the flat—,"

"I took care of it," he answered smoothly, blue eyes darting away from her as soon as she turned her gaze up to his.

Sora opened and closed her mouth several times, confused. "You took care of it?" she repeated, lost at his meaning.

Yamato shrugged, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his pants. "I wasn't going to let him come home to an apartment full of her things." He paused, his voice deep and thoughtful. "I didn't have to do much. She had already been there."

"That's why you weren't there last night."

He said nothing, again shrugging noncommittally, and she admonished herself for being so stunned by his actions at all. Of course, Yamato would do something like that, quietly taking care of the things that needed to be done, always one step ahead when it came to protecting the people he loved. When wasn't he thinking of everyone else?

She blinked quickly, feeling the corners of her eyes prickling again. She became impatient to leave, breath hitched in her tight chest. "I should go."

Yamato nodded, gaze trained on Taichi's back as the latter bent over the reception desk, pen in his hand. The concierge was pointing to different lines on the bill, speaking barely above a whisper, and Taichi was scratching his cheek with the top of the pen as he listened, eyebrows rising higher and higher. Yamato straightened where he stood, and Sora took advantage of his distraction to quickly walk by them, crossing the lobby to the revolving doors.

"Sora?"

She stopped just before the doors, fixing her expression into the calmest smile she could manage before turning around. Taichi's lip curled into a small smirk, brows knit in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I've got to get to work," she lied. "How about I bring you dinner after?"

"My mom said she and my dad are coming," he explained with a mournful shake of his head. "I'd rather have you."

Sora promised she would give him a call when she could, and without looking at Yamato again, she left.

Taichi watched her reflection through the revolving doors for a minute, then rounded on his best friend so quickly that the latter took a frightened step back, eyebrows raised.

"What did you do to her?" demanded Taichi.

"Nothing," Yamato defended himself crossly, irritated. "She's the one who broke up with me."

It slipped out before he could close his mouth, and he did so now with flustered regret, eyes narrowed.

Taichi regarded him suspiciously, then asked, "When?"

"Last week," he admitted, though he was not sure why he was willingly volunteering up such personal information without putting up a fight at all. Maybe he was just tired of keeping up the pretense for so long, not wanting to distract from the ceremony, not able to even confide in his closest friend. But after yesterday's events it seemed selfish to bring something like this up in comparison. It wasn't the same ending, even if it was an end of something.

"We just wanted different things," he offered after a moment, a poor explanation, but Taichi neither questioned it nor continued interrogating him. Suddenly the silence felt awkward, as both men considered their now unexpectedly similar boat.

"You all right?" Taichi asked in the gruff sort of way emotionally stagnant men sometimes did.

Yamato didn't miss a beat. "Are you?"

Taichi pointed at his black eye in response, and Yamato raised his chin, unapologetic. Shaking his head, Taichi closed his hand around the handle of his luggage, dragging it behind him as he marched across the lobby. "I'm thinking we should take it back to elementary school from now on, Ishida. We don't need girls to have fun."

Yamato refrained himself from remarking on the other implications of that statement, following him out the door with a bemused smile.


	3. Cover Me With Kisses Dear

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

* * *

_Cover me with kisses dear_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

He was waiting for her at the door to their shop, stretching his arms into the air with a very loud and exaggerated groan. The dark circles under mahogany eyes cast deep shadows over an already tanned face, unruly maroon hair curling in untamed wisps around ears slightly too large for his head, but in an endearing sort of way. He was wearing a dark blue football jacket emblazoned with the mascot of his youth league and beige colored shorts, revealing scabby knees and muscled legs tucked into a pair of ratty white sneakers. A thin scar ran along the length of his upper calf to the side of his ankle on his right leg, the aftermath of an injury that had taken him out of football for good, though he was not the sort to heed doctor's advice often. The clearest evidence of this was the athletic tape wrapped around his right knee, and Mimi let her gaze linger over the bandage disapprovingly before fixing her face into a more cheerful smile, cautiously deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt this time and not tell Jyou he had been running again.

"Good morning!" she greeted happily.

His response was grouchy and stubborn, wincing when she shot her smile like an obnoxious beam of sunshine into his eye. Motomiya Daisuke could only be pacified with coffee in the mornings but he was too cheap to pick up any on the way to work, where he could get free cups of the good brew all day.

"Oh, yeah?" he demanded, wrinkling his nose. "What's good about mornings? Tell me one thing!"

"You're so agreeable in the morning," she cooed. She pinched his cheek, then ducked under his outstretched hand when he attempted to swat hers away and unlocked the door.

Their workplace was one large open air kitchen: a small, contained lobby greeted them at the entrance, complete with a standing desk with a phone and workplace computer, beside a set of armchairs and a little round table on which Mimi had set a small potted cactus plant, a gift from her mother when she had opened. Behind this welcome area was the majority of the space, divided into large steel tables that ended in either commercial-sized steel sinks or in stoves and ovens with full ranges. In the massive metal pantries along both walls were shelves stacked with tins, boxes, plastic containers, and all kinds of appliances and utensils, while in the left corner stood three enormous refrigerators and two long horizontal freezers. Mimi had deliberately designed the entire space to be open and interactive, wanting to create a business center that was collaborative like a communal kitchen, and she was proud of the little building. It was more like home than her own apartment sometimes, and she hoped her staff thought the same.

She flipped on the lights by the door as Daisuke followed after her, dragging his feet tiredly. The pair moved like clockwork about the store, adjusting appliances, straightening brochures on the round table, ripping off the old date page on the desktop calendar, switching on the coffee maker that was on the little table by the office computer, and setting out mugs on the front desk, all without skipping a beat of rhythm. It had been this way since they opened, with Mimi as chef and owner and Daisuke as her loyal sous chef who managed so much of their business he might as well be a partner. Mimi supposed that when two people worked together for so long, they were bound to establish a certain synchronized rapport, particularly if their personalities were evenly matched. Well, mostly even: Daisuke never seemed to be worried about anything, and Mimi usually remembered to think before she spoke. Well, usually. Actually, she was pretty terrible about that, too. Maybe that was why they got on so well.

Daisuke let his messenger bag down at the front desk as he waited for the coffee, starting the computer. He accepted the beverage gratefully when Mimi approached with a piping hot cup, blowing on her own. Holding the mug in one hand, he pointed to the computer screen and tapped the folder icon labelled "Yagami" with a stubby forefinger. "It's been more than a week now. We're going to have to settle this one today."

Mimi paused, brows knit curiously. "Settle what?"

"Remember that wedding reception we catered, the one with the bride who ran off? They had us way over our contracts. We had to charge him for the rest of it, and he hasn't paid yet."

"Oh," said Mimi, forehead wrinkled, and Daisuke's eyes narrowed.

"Mimi." His tone was a mix of admonishment and exasperation, as though he already knew what her reservations were going to be.

She made them anyway. "I mean, it was sort of an unusual series of events…."

"It doesn't matter," he insisted, gulping down a scalding mouthful of coffee. "You have to honor the contracts you sign. It's about responsibility."

She declined the urge to comment on the irony of Daisuke lecturing her on responsible behavior. For the briefest of moments, her mind flashed back to his birthday only a few weeks before, and how he'd ended the night wearing his chef hat around the front of his naked waist and shimmying about the crowded parking lot. She decided not to bring up that event again, though she highly doubted he would be embarrassed by it still, if he ever had been.

She fixed her expression into a stubborn pout. "I know that. But I think there's something to be said for making exceptions when unexpected things happen."

"You can't run a business with a soft heart, Mimi. You have to be firm. If you let one client walk all over you, then they all will, and what will happen to all this if that keeps happening?" He gestured wildly about the kitchen, spilling a little coffee over the side of the mug in the enthusiasm to make his point.

"Don't say 'keeps'," she said crossly, too stubborn for her own good. "You make it sound like I ignore all the contracts we sign."

He started ticking off points with his fingers for emphasis. "There was the Ichijoji wedding that you didn't charge for the thirty extra guests they brought; the Izumi party when you accepted the deposit a full week after it was due; and the Hida contract you gave a discount on because it _rained_—,"

"Okay, okay!" she protested, irritated and secretly amazed that his memory was so good this early in the morning.

"None of these people do what they do on purpose, Mimi," he insisted, continuing his lecture despite the deepening of her pout. "But you can't be so lenient in a business. So the ceremony was cancelled because she changed her mind. That really sucks, sure, but it's still their obligation to cover the costs of the contract. That's what they agreed to, and it's the right thing to do."

Mimi was still unconvinced, anxiously chewing on her bottom lip. "I think the right thing to do would be to give the guy a break."

But Daisuke just waved the suggestion aside dismissively. "He'll be fine. Men are men. They have too much pride to change."

Again, visions of a nude Daisuke streaking around the parking lot flashed through her mind's eye. _Right_, she thought. _Pride_.

He tapped the icon on the screen again, resolute and firm, and Mimi reluctantly reminded herself why it was so important to have someone like him on her staff. She knew he was right about this. She was too much of a pacifist to initiate confrontation over an unfulfilled contract, but they were binding documents, and they did have to be followed. Like it or not, she had to admit she was too lenient sometimes, and being reminded of the times she had given in made her realize she couldn't keep going like this. Already, she was facing tough competition with other caterers and vendors who were inching into their markets, and they weren't going to win people over long term by acquiescing on the short term and eventually losing more money. She had to have a stern fist about this.

Well, maybe not her specifically. Maybe she could just be the pretty face and Daisuke could be the hard line.

So she opened her eyes wide like a puppy, tilting her face up to look at him with her mouth pouting over the top of her coffee mug. "Can't you call him?"

Daisuke's eyes narrowed. "Mimi."

She groaned at once, setting her cup down and falling dramatically over the desk so her arms spread out over her head, face pressed into the surface, and whined, rather childishly, "But I don't want to!"

"Mimi!"

"No!"

"Fine!" he barked, grabbing the cordless phone off the wall hook by the front desk. "I'll do it. But you're going to go pick up the check."

Mimi sat up at once, shocked. "That's not fair!"

But Daisuke had already dialed the number on the contract, and before she could interrupt him, the line connected. Immediately, he adopted his business personality, beginning the conversation as cool and quietly persistent as a vendor with a mission could. "Hello, am I speaking with Mr. Yagami?... Yes, this is Motomiya Daisuke calling on behalf Tachikawa Mimi with Mimi's Catering, how are you this morning?"

He side-stepped her kick effortlessly, moving around the desk where she couldn't reach him, and she glared, annoyed he would make it sound like she had been pestering him to call the client and make them pay up.

He continued chatting, ignoring her icy stare. "That's great to hear. Listen, I was calling about the contract for the...um, event we catered for you last Saturday. Because of the, uh, circumstances we were, of course, more than willing to accommodate your guests for the duration of the party, but unfortunately that duration did exceed the time we were contractually obligated to provide for our services. We do follow a pretty strict policy regarding overtime on catered events, and I was hoping I could speak to you about that if you're available... Oh, really? Well, no, no, that's completely fine, I understand... No, no, it's no trouble at all... Well, I appreciate that... Yes, I understand... That sounds great. Sure…. Yes…. Okay... Great! See you then."

He hung up with a pleased look on his face, preening out of vindication for the success of the phone call. "See, what did I tell you? Men honor their contracts."

"He's going to send the check?" Mimi asked, distracted by the news that he had gotten the client to settle the bill, and with seemingly little protest.

Daisuke grinned evilly. "Nope. Apparently his office is only a couple blocks from here, so he's going to come over in person after work."

Mimi blinked slowly, stunned. "But you won't be here then. You're doing a walk-through consultation for next week's event, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," he said smugly, his grin impossible to contain, "because you didn't want to do that either. See what happens when you're too chicken to talk to clients?"

Mimi glowered, cursing under her breath, and furrowed her brows worriedly. "What if he makes a scene? What if he doesn't want to pay? What if he's coming here to argue about the fees?"

"I guess you'll have to argue with him right back. Good luck!" said Daisuke in his best sing-song voice as he glided across the room into the kitchens, thoroughly pleased with himself for ambushing her so perfectly with this real-world learning experience.

Mimi remained irritated and anxious all day, repeatedly trying her best to get Daisuke to swap with her, though she wasn't particularly keen on doing a consultation either. It wasn't as though Mimi was not a social person. She enjoyed attention and liked talking to people. She loved entertaining; why else would she open a business built solely around the idea of professional culinary entertainment?

But clients weren't people.

Clients were sources of stress, demanding and impatient with a bizarre list of preferences that meant nothing but unfair amounts of additional work for her and her staff. Clients sucked the fun right out of social gatherings, and they were worse when it came to finances. She purposely let Daisuke handle consultations chiefly because those were the conversations that always meant a heckling or two over prices and fees. She preferred the menu and tasting meetings, but sometimes even those could be another headache altogether.

Every now and then, Mimi found herself wondering if she was really meant to run a client-based, private business like a catering company. Would she would be happier in an actual restaurant? On the other hand, there were benefits to the former, and she had no experience of the latter. Besides, as Jyou rightly told her, a restaurant had clients, too, and patrons were just as demanding and picky as those who hired her business now.

After a late lunch, Daisuke left with several boxes of samples for his consultation, but not before taking her aside, telling her the pep talk he used to get from his youth league football coach in the locker room, and giving her the kind of tight, reassuring hug that made her resentment with him disappear and her nerves settle. "You got this," he told her in all seriousness, his cheeky grin just a friendly reminder that he had her back, too, and always would.

Eventually, she reached the end of the work day, and Mimi said good-bye to the part-time assistants who had helped her roll out fondant and prep for a birthday party they were going to cater the next afternoon. It was a much more low-key affair compared to a wedding or special event, birthday parties, and they were often much smaller. It did not take much time for her assistants to finish their work, and she rewarded them by releasing them early. She closed the bakery kitchen, storing the materials she had been using, and decided to run through their ingredients inventory so she could send Daisuke to the farmer's market in the morning.

She was bending over to look at the bottom row of the open rack pantry when the bell chimed to indicate a visitor at the front desk. Mimi stood so quickly she had to give herself a few seconds to let the blood rush settle. She was looking out at the front door a little cross-eyed in her instability, and, unfortunately, he noticed.

For the second time in as many weeks, Taichi considered the caterer to be a little unhinged.

His tone was dry and quizzical, but in a cautiously amused way. "I thought it was just the tongue-sticking-out thing you did when you concentrated. That eye thing looks like it would hurt after a while."

Mimi forgot to be embarrassed, indignant. "I don't do either of those things!"

"You just were—,"

"You're here for the unpaid balance, is that right?" she interrupted smoothly, her irritation soothing her nervousness.

Taichi just grinned sheepishly, a little apologetic for teasing a stranger, though he would never admit so aloud. He curled his hands into the pockets of his work slacks and nodded. "Yeah, I'm Yagami Taichi. I think I have to see someone named Daisuke?"

"No, you're here to see me," she said, the authority in her voice surprising even her. But she kept at the persona, setting her clipboard with the inventory list down on the steel table by the pantry and marching to the front. She went straight to the computer at the desk, selecting his file and opening the contract.

"I appreciate your patience in settling the account," he said suddenly, which took her by surprise. She eyed him, eyebrow arched, and said nothing as he went on, "A lot of things had to be figured out, you know, after, and it's hard to keep track of things. I wasn't purposely avoiding you guys. Your staff was so great, keeping everyone fed that night, so I wouldn't do something like skip out on the bill." She felt her walls coming down, sympathy growing for him as he pulled out his wallet, taking a folded up blank check out and unbending the crease. "Just let me know how much the total is."

"Sure," she said more shortly than she meant to, but she was tongue-tied now, uncertain of how to respond to his friendly demeanor. Usually, late-paying clients were the farthest thing from friendly.

The file opened, and Mimi scrolled down to the end of the tallied column indicating the final amount. She hid her wince remarkably, masking it with a light cough. "Here you go," she said, turning the computer monitor. He leaned over the counter, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"I'm sorry," he coughed, voice weak. "What's that?"

She let her finger drag slowly over the detailed lines of the bill, pausing at each one as she explained it, her tone lowering to barely over a nervous whisper. "This was the original total. This was was the surcharge for the extra hours serviced. This was the updated total. This was the interest we charged for each day you were late. And this last one is the final total." She let her words trail off as he stared at the screen.

He continued staring at the figure for a minute, open-mouthed, as though he had never imagined there could that many numbers grouped together on a bill like this. Then he straightened, shoulders back. "Well, my own fault, I guess."

Mimi was unsure if he was suggesting it was his fault that he was late on the payment, or if it was his fault her company had been hired to cater and thus stuck him with the large bill. She hoped it was the former, but in her experience, even the best people tended to transform into sour grouches over money issues, and now she was wondering if the cheery demeanor was truly gone. She did not want to test the change, so she shifted on her feet awkwardly, hands behind her back.

"I'm sorry," she offered after a hesitant moment, and he waved her apology aside.

"I said it was my fault, not yours. Business is business." Then he paused, looking at the computer screen with a frown. He scratched his head, nervous fingers gripping at his thick brown locks. "Now this is embarrassing, but do you guys have some kind of payment plan or anything?"

She hesitated, knowing the answer and, more importantly, what Daisuke would say, but the worried way his brows knit together, his darkening eyes, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth told her that he wasn't lying about his situation, that he was earnest about the circumstances.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked after a moment.

Taichi continued absent-mindedly playing with his hair as he thought aloud. "I've got a couple other bills to settle, too, and it's getting pretty tight. I definitely will be able to pay," he added after a brief pause, his eyes darting to her face. "I just might need a little time. I can probably give you half now, and half later. Would that be okay?"

She could hear Daisuke's thundering voice screeching a "Be firm!" and a "Don't let clients walk over you!" and a "The customer is not always right!" in her ears, but all she saw was Taichi's wide brown eyes before her.

So Mimi nodded. "Okay."

The corners of his mouth pulled up into a charming smile and he grinned. "That would be so great, really. Thank you so much; you have no idea how much this will help me out."

She felt the blush warm her cheeks, and she became flustered, anxious to finish up this under-the-table deal before her sous chef could come back and find out what she had done. Ducking her head away so Taichi wouldn't see her red face, she grabbed a pen from the drawer under the table and handed it to him. He bent over the desk, scrawling out the new figure on the check and signing his name with a flourish. He slid the completed slip over to her when it was done, but did not remove his hand even when she placed her own on the other end.

"Do me a favor though?" he asked. "Don't cash this right away, all right? Give me a couple weeks."

Her thin eyebrow arched again, curious, and he shrugged, shaking his head. "I'd advise you not to get left at the altar. What you really get stuck with is a shit ton of bills. All that broken heart business is really preferable to financial debt, let me tell you," he added jokingly, but her smile faded.

It was the first time he had brought up the subject of the event, even though it was the event's bill they were working to settle. She became uncomfortable, uncertain how to deal with a stranger confessing something so personal, and she considered him carefully. He was dressed for work with a clean light blue button-up tucked into grey trousers, complimenting the dark tan of his skin and the deep brown of his eyes. He looked healthy and relatively unbothered by recent events, which Mimi found astonishing, and the fact that he was still jesting about it peaked her morbid curiosity.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure," he said cheerfully, but she was not willing to believe it. He seemed to sense that she hadn't bought his display of calm happiness, and he relaxed his shoulders, slouching as he glanced about the room and admitted something deep and dark: "Well, I'm hungry, I guess, but besides that—,"

And she sprung into action. Cooking was the only thing she knew how to do when everything else went wrong, and her pacifistic instincts took over, utilizing her guilt in forcing him to fork over such a large fee—even if it was contractually deserved—to make up for putting her business first. "I was going to make myself something to eat. Do you want to stay?"

He watched her hurry back to the pantry where she had left her clipboard, picking up a basket of vegetables from one of the shelves and carrying it to a steel table.

"Wait, really?"

The astonished tone of his voice amused her. "I always think a good meal makes anyone feel better."

"Do you always eat at work?"

Mimi shrugged, pulling out bowls and pans from below one of the tables that ended in a stove range. "Usually when my boyfriend is on-call at nights, I will. Can you hand me those spaghetti noodles?"

He obeyed, handing her the package. She pointed to the cabinets underneath the counter. "Thanks. Can you rinse and fill up that pot with water? And then can you peel this garlic?"

Her requests had, by that point, stopped sounding like favors and more like commands, and he had the distinct impression that she was a rather bossy cook, which tickled him. "I guess this is because you figured out I can't pay for the meal, right? Making me earn my keep with manual labor instead?" he teased, having more difficulty in peeling the leaves off the garlic clove than the average human being likely would.

Her eyes rested on the haphazard way his fingers were ripping the garlic apart, itching to correct him but trying not to condescend to a hopeless amateur. Wasn't it supposed to be situations like this that tested innate character flaws? So she sucked in her breath and said calmly, "Something like that."

Taichi saw the way her face tightened with each wrong attempt he made at peeling the garlic, and he rolled his eyes. "All right, come on. Show me how to do this soon, or that vein is gonna pop right out of your head."

Her face reddened at being caught, but she was secretly relieved to be getting permission to take over. She leapt forward, eager, teaching him the proper way to dice garlic, fry onions, peel potatoes, and cook pasta to the perfect al dente consistency. They didn't talk about anything besides cooking, with him asking questions and popping wisecracks at each mistake he made, and her admonishing him to pay more attention to what was on the stove or otherwise burn their dinner.

She did not bring up the wedding again. He only alluded to it once more: once as children, his sister Hikari, the woman in pink at the ceremony, had thrown up their mother's under-cooked noodles over the balcony of their ten-story apartment building. It was in the middle of this amazing story that the door chime rang again, and they both glanced up, giggling, and saw Daisuke enter.

He froze at the entance.

"Oh, Daisuke!" she greeted warmly. "Welcome back! Want to stay for dinner, too?"

"Ah, so you're Daisuke," said Taichi, waving a soapy hand from the sink where he was scrubbing pots. "How was the consultation?"

He stared at the brown-haired man in disbelief, a surreal look on his dumbfounded face, and Mimi quickly wiped her hands on the front of her apron, excusing herself to rush up to the front of the room and take Daisuke aside. "Don't worry," she whispered to him, out of Taichi's earshot. "Everything's fine. I settled it, just like you said. He's just staying for dinner."

"Clients don't stay for dinner, Mimi," said Daisuke slowly, as though he were speaking to an amnesic child version of his boss. "They come. They pay. They leave. You don't get to _keep_ them."

"I was just being nice," she said, a little cross that he didn't seem to share her compassion for poor souls. "Spread the karma, Daisuke. Do something good for someone, and you get good things back."

"You really believe that," he said, sounding more like a statement than a question.

She grasped his hand, tugging on it. "Come on. I made your favorite."

His expression was reluctant, but the growl of his stomach was perfectly timed. Mimi grinned to herself as Daisuke sighed loudly, following her back to the kitchen table. _Karma._


	4. Lighten Up The Atmosphere

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

* * *

_Lighten up the atmosphere_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

He answered the buzzer of the intercom on the fifth time, stumbling over the rug at the front door as he skidded to a halt. He slammed his palm onto the receiver, "'Kari, is that you?"

"Yes! Can I come up?"

"It's open," Taichi said, hitting the right button. He heard the click of the gated lobby door sound just as the intercom turned off, and he sighed, stepping back.

His gaze quickly scanned the apartment, searching for anything incriminating to hide. It was difficult to find anything in the mess, and he decided to bank on the fact that his sister would be too disgusted by his lazy habits to pay close attention to the abnormally high number of beer cans and junk food wrappers littering the floor. On second thought, he started kicking some of these items under larger items, such as the dirty clothes, couch cushions, and takeout boxes that had erected small cluttered colonies all over the floor, claiming territory throughout the apartment.

He grimaced, scowling at his lack of neatness, then put on his best smile and threw open the door.

Yagami Hikari had come straight from work. Taichi knew this because his sister's hair had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, her once crisp blouse had lots of wrinkles and a few new suspicious-looking stains around the cuffs and collar, and there was paint all over her hands, plus a little green dollop on her chin.

He chuckled, reaching towards her to wipe the flecks of dried paint from her face. "Green's not your color."

Hikari smiled, her brown eyes lighting up in spite of her obvious exhaustion. She set her knapsack on the floor by the door and hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek. "I know I'm really late; I'm so sorry. We caught one of the kids eating paint and it turned into this whole ordeal with the parents."

"Didn't you used to eat paint?"

"No, that was you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"And look how I turned out! Tell the parents their kid will be fine."

"That should comfort them." She giggled, gaze lingered on the stack of beer cans along the window sill across the room. "As for this mess though…."

He waved a finger at her warningly. "Don't start. It looks worse than it actually is."

"But you look good." Her voice was soft this time, and her eyes searched his face carefully. "You do, Taichi."

He immediately looked away from her, avoiding the way she seemed to see right through him. "I feel good," he said cheerfully.

She nodded, stepping further into the room. She made her way to the couch but stopped before she sat down, peering at the upturned cushions as though they might combust if touched. Taichi leapt forward, straightening the cushions for her, smoothing the wrinkled cloth and picking out the scraps of paper napkins and magazines that were stuck in the cracks of the sofa. She kept her smile small though she wanted to laugh at his earnestness in trying to make such a biohazard presentable, accepting the small clean spot he managed to finally clear for her. She smoothed her navy skirt over her knees, patting the spot beside her.

But Taichi did not take it, knowing what would happen if he did. She'd hold his hand, or try to hug him, and then the conversation would turn in the exact direction it always did. He was desperate to avoid this, so he kept standing, and her smile faded when she realized why.

"How is work?" she asked, changing the subject.

He was relieved for the conversation, obliging her as he continued walking around the living room, picking up trash and stuffing it into a plastic bag he found in the kitchen. "It's not so bad. Lots of meetings. I get overtime for it though, which is nice. Koushiro and I found this new Taiwanese restaurant a couple streets over that has the best lunch combo. You should come by some time; we'll take you."

"That sounds nice," she smiled genuinely. "How is Koushiro?"

"The same. Nothing to report."

Hikari frowned a little at the term, not wanting to make it seem like this was an interrogation. She realized what was making it appear that way, so she quickly reassured him, "I haven't talked to Mom since last week, you know. School is really busy with the start of the semester."

Taichi rolled his eyes. "She keeps calling me. It's not every day anymore, but I started letting it go to voicemail. It's getting annoying."

She knew better than to try to explain their mother's worry, so she let the matter drop, watching him clear off the oval coffee table in the middle of the room.

It was strange to be here, even though she had been back many times since that day. It was not as though the apartment felt empty or neglected, despite its current state. No, it was the fact that he was here, living in a shell of a former life, and pretending he wasn't.

Their parents, Sora, and even Yamato wanted Taichi to move out, to find somewhere new, but she knew her older brother was too stubborn to let the world see how it affected him. That would the ultimate sin in Taichi's eyes, to give in and bend to the will of how you were supposed to deal with difficulty. Taichi was going to do it all his way, which Hikari was prepared for. What she was not prepared for, however, was the way he insisted on doing it all alone.

"Anyway, I know I'm super late, but I'm still up for getting dinner if you are," she said, putting on her brightest smile for him.

He immediately looked apologetic, conflicted as he bit his lip. "Yeah, about that—I kind of told Daisuke I'd go with him to see one of his favorite bands perform tonight. Mimi was going to come, too, but her boyfriend got the night off from the hospital for the first time in weeks, and Daisuke doesn't want to go by himself." He paused in the excessive explanation, hesitant. "Can I get a rain check?"

Hikari did not let the disappointment reach her eyes. She nodded. "Sure, no problem. I'm pretty tired, to be honest."

It was true, but not true enough. She had been waiting all week for their Friday night dinner, something they used to do a lot more before he had gotten engaged. This was supposed to have been the first time they'd have it again in over a year, but she suspected she was the only one to remember that detail. She couldn't fault him for this. Taichi was already hopelessly clueless about most things, but in the past six weeks, he'd become even more absent-minded, distracted, and hard to pin down.

She brought it up casually, careful with her words. "You've been spending a lot of time over there."

"Over where?"

"The caterer's."

"Yeah, I guess I have," he shrugged. "They're both fun, easy-going. I like talking to them."

"You can talk to us, too. You know that, right? We're here for you. We're not going anywhere."

Taichi did not look at her, face turned away. "I know."

Hikari bit her lip, brow creased on a small, pretty face. "You can always tell us anything, any time you want to talk about—,"

"I said, I know," he interrupted, voice sharp.

She immediately closed her mouth, hands folded in her lap, blinking quickly.

He put the trash bag down and came to sit next to her at last, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to raise my voice like that."

She nodded, lip trembling into a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay."

He rubbed his face, scratching his ear with a half-hearted shrug. "I'm not pushing you guys away. I'm just looking for normal. Is that okay?"

"Of course, it is," she breathed, moved that he would even ask.

He smiled at her, knocking his shoulder into hers. "Thanks for coming to see me, though. I like it when you do."

"It's mostly to make sure you clean up. I know you only pretend to when you know I'm coming over, though," she pointed out wisely, and he winced sheepishly, wrinkling his nose. Hikari stood, laughing, and stretched her arms. "You're off the hook this time, though, lucky you. Call me later?"

"Absolutely," he promised, kissing the top of her head. "Get home safe."

He saw her off, giving her a quick embrace before waving her out the door. As soon as she was gone, he dove for his bedroom, rushing as he glanced at the clock. Cursing at the little time he had left, he ditched the idea of a shower and only changed his clothes, running the last bit of wax product he had left through his hair to make it look as though he had spent more than a few seconds getting ready to go to a nightclub. He glowered at his reflection in the mirror, displeased with both his tired-looking appearance in general and the fact that he had no time to make himself more presentable, then he became annoyed that he would even care so much about any of it. Muttering to himself admonishingly, he grabbed his keys, pocketed his wallet, and unplugged the cell phone from its charger on the wall. He stared at the apartment, secretly glad no one besides his family had to look at it in this state, then resolved to make more of an effort to act like an adult in the morning and forced himself out the door.

The nightclub was quite far from his apartment, and the directions he had noted down from himself only got him more lost. It took more than forty minutes to reach the right intersection, switching train lines three times as he retraced his aimless steps, and when he turned the corner, he was relieved to see at last the blinking neon name on the side of a grungy brick wall. Near the middle of the line at the door was Daisuke, who looked peeved. He wore a black T-shirt over dark jeans, a white graphic printed onto the front. Taichi squeezed past a few disgruntled patrons to reach the younger man, who exclaimed when he saw him, "Where have you been? You're over an hour late!"

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Don't mind him," a new voice said stiffly, and from behind Daisuke emerged an amused Mimi. "He's just anxious to be the first of the groupies to get inside." She had on sheer black tights and a jeans skirt, paired with platform heels and layered, multi-colored tanks. It was strange to see her not wearing her apron, but Taichi still grinned, pleased to find she had made it after all.

"I thought you were busy tonight?"

"Something came up," she said with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Something always comes up."

"Yes, all those pesky patients showing up to hospitals with diseases and accidents," muttered Daisuke distractedly. "How rude of them."

Mimi smacked him in the shoulder and he winced. "I meant something personal came up," she snapped at him, "_not_ that it's any of your business."

"Everything okay?" asked Taichi.

She smiled, appreciating the fact that he cared enough to check, then shot Daisuke a glare for not doing the same. "Oh, I'm sure it is. Jyou's brother came into town for business, and he sees his family even less than he sees me, so I decided to come here instead."

Daisuke scoffed, offended. "Come here instead?" he repeated, mimicking her soft voice perfectly. "You should have brought them all over. They're going to miss out on the greatest musical performance in existence!"

Taichi chuckled while Mimi rolled her eyes dramatically, pursing her full lips.

The doors opened, and Daisuke started bouncing on the balls of his feet with an eagerness that made Taichi wish the younger man would at least try to appear less conspicuous in his adoration. He exchanged looks with Mimi, whose eyebrow was raised amusedly. He fell back so he could walk next to her, leaning in to lower his voice so Daisuke wouldn't hear him. "What's this band again?"

Mimi shrugged, whispering back, "No idea. Every month, Daisuke discovers another band that he says is going to be the next best thing. Just watch; the obsession over this one will be done before the end of the concert."

"Well, it can't be that bad, can it?"

Later, Taichi would come to regret those words with a deep and personal vengeance.

They passed through the dirty entrance of the run-down club—which should have been Taichi's first clue—and descended the sticky stairs to the dirty basement of the building—which should have been the second. The stairs led to a dark, dimly lit crowded bar, which opened into a cramped dance floor. At the front was a large, raised platform on which was assembled microphones, speakers, amplifiers, and a massive drum set. Pre-recorded metal music blared as the stage waited for the featured musicians to take their places, the bass pounding through the walls with incredible force. Posters, stickers, and graffiti covered all available surfaces, and Taichi felt his sense of smell ambushed by the strong stench of cigarette smoke and other possibly illegal substances that reminded him too much of his college days.

Daisuke gestured for the two to follow him to the front of the crowd, staking out prime real estate right at the edge of the stage. He pointed at the spot next to him, which Taichi took reluctantly, uncomfortable. Daisuke leaned to shout into his ear, "You have to be near the speakers! If you aren't feeling the music through your very pores, you're not listening to it the right way! Isn't this great?" Taichi gave him the thumbs-up, masking his horror of the thoroughly unattractive setting, wondering if this chaos was preferable to the mess of his own apartment.

The crowded club burst into wild cheers as the band finally emerged from a dark corner, taking the stage. The drummer took his seat, wearing only black cargo shorts, while the bassist and electric guitarist both took spots on either side of him. The keyboardist arrived with the lead singer, who was dressed in a black leather vest and skinny jeans so tight that Taichi winced for him.

The man held up his hand silently, a hush falling over the assembled horde. "This," he said slowly, voice barely over a whisper into the microphone, "is for the fans."

A cry of anticipation rippled through the assembled crowd, and the musicians took their positions as the vocalist closed his eyes, held his breath—and screamed.

The sound was deafening.

The beat of the drums ripped through Taichi's ears, sending him staggering back from the unexpected shock, colliding into the wall of fans behind him. Before he could get a hold of himself, the guitars began to play, and the screeching chords made his skin crawl, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He desperately tried to keep from clamping his hands over his ears, struggling to inch away from the stage and the screeching cacophony coming from the singer's wide open mouth.

At once, the crowd started moshing, jumping up and down where they stood to the beat of the song—though Taichi swore there was no comprehensible beat to be found in the clash of sounds—and he was jostled around, knocking violently into a sea of sweaty bodies. For a full five minutes, he was trapped in this nightmarish sea, his sense of hearing completely shot, hands and elbows slapping his face so many times that he thought for a second his jaw had been dislocated. He frantically fought back each time he was hit or shoved in the mosh pit, trying to free himself from the clutches of this musical insanity, and for the briefest of seconds, Mimi's terrified face—wearing an expression he thought thoroughly matched his own—swam by him before disappearing again into the thrashing crowd.

Taichi dove for her, grabbed what turned out to be her elbow, and pulled her back away from the stage. They were caught at the edge of the thickest section of the crowd, trapped but at least farther from the stage and the most dedicated, enthusiastic fans, including Daisuke, who was screaming along right back to the lead singer and waving like a madman.

Deciding at that moment that he really liked being an adult, Taichi wanted nothing better than to escape from this nightclub hell, or at least recover his hearing, but all around him was the sounds of metal crashing and people screaming. So he shook Mimi by the shoulder to get her to look at him, pointing at the door to the stairs that led back up to the street.

"Do you want to go up for a minute? Get re-orientated?" he shouted at her.

Her face was confused. "_What?_" she mouthed.

He repeated himself, louder, straining his already hoarse voice, "_Do you want to go outside?_"

"_What did you say?_" she screamed.

This time, he shouted back, as loud as he could, "_I'm going outside! This music is terrible!_" at the exact moment that the song ended.

Everything fell silent. Sweaty heads swiveled towards the direction where they stood, all eyes turning at once. The crowd's judgmental faces accosted him, and he felt the heat rising under the collar of his shirt. His tongue turned to ash in his mouth as Mimi stared back at him with wide eyes, face pale, frozen with her mouth open. Neither of them moved, nor did anyone else in the club. His eyes darted into the silent crowd and locked onto Daisuke, who looked murderous, glaring at him from the center of the mosh pit where only the most dedicated fans were allowed.

At last, the lead singer leaned into the microphone and said angrily, "Well, fuck you, too, man."

The crowd erupted.

Taichi's dumbstruck embarrassment immediately disappeared, and he opened his mouth to retaliate to the insult with more of his own. Before he could, however, Mimi's small hand found his arm, frantically tugging him through the crowd that parted for them as though they were lepers. Ducking the jeering faces, he allowed her to lead him up the grungy stairs and out onto the street where she finally let go and seemed to back away herself.

They looked at each other for another minute, both mortified about the experience they had just endured—and then she burst into uncontrollable giggles, bending over and clutching her stomach. Her tiny body was shuddering with waves of laughter, and she could barely look at him, her face red.

"It was terrible music," he insisted, and that just made her howl harder. "It's not funny!"

"Then why can't I stop laughing?" she demanded through heavy giggling gasps for air, a stitch in her side.

"Was I wrong to call them out for their assault on musical talent?"

She couldn't speak, still laughing, tears of mirth pooling in the corners of her eyes.

So he went on ranting. "It's just shitty music! That is a terrible band! The way they play—I mean, people were there to hear a good show, and bands have the obligation to give the people what they want! It's about respecting the bond between the performer and the audience! You're supposed to give back the trust people give you, counting on you to be there, to not leave them wondering where you are or why you didn't show up whe—," and suddenly he stopped himself, wide-eyed.

Her smile was long gone, fading as soon as his unexpected words first changed their tone. The look on her face was the kind people gave to those they feel sorry for, and that was the kind he hated seeing more than anything else. He had already seen it enough on Hikari's face, just a few hours earlier in his own apartment. He didn't want to see it on her face, too. The whole point of this was that she and Daisuke didn't see him like that, know him like the others did; the point was that he had people he could be normal with who wouldn't ask him about his feelings or try to make him talk. But now she was looking at him the way everyone else did, and that was the worst part.

So he turned away from her, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, furious with himself most of all.

Her hand caught his, curled around his own with a calming tenderness that stilled his anger. He did not look at her, his back still turned away, nor did she pull his arm to make him face her. She let him be, let him take his time, and it was only a minute later that his heartbeat settled to its regular pace and the lump in his throat finally disappeared.

"Everything just changed so fast," he said, voice low. He stopped, shaking his head slowly. "Six weeks ago, I did not expect to have my sense of hearing assassinated in a dingy nightclub by a shitty metal band. Six weeks ago, I was ready for boring nights-in watching stupid movies in bed, going for brunch on the weekends at the farmer's market, always having a 'plus one' to work dinners, buying throw pillows,"—here he paused—"_using_ throw pillows."

Mimi made her voice as kind as possible as she pointed out, "I think there's a bit more to being married than finally getting to decorate with throw pillows."

She had meant to make him smile, and it worked, for a little while. But just as quickly as the trembling smirk appeared did it fade, and in the next moment he was shaking, and this time he couldn't stop. His fingers tightened around hers, holding on to her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He whispered, "What do you do when normal is too hard to find again? What do you do when you don't want to move on?"

She did not respond, as though she knew he did not want her to, that there was nothing she could say to a heart this broken. She only stood there and held his hand, her touch soft and undemanding, her thumb gently stroking the skin of his palm in slow, soothing movements.

"There you assholes are!" growled an angry voice behind them.

Startled, Mimi let go of Taichi's hand at once, and the latter took an instinctive step back, the tan of his skin masking the blush in his cheeks. Before he could realize what was happening, Daisuke had stalked angrily over towards them and jabbed a stubby finger so hard into Taichi's chest that the man grunted, speechless.

"I can't believe you would embarrass me like that," he said, voice pained and furious. "Friends don't ruin each other's chances to become friends with someone better!"

Mimi sighed. "You really want to be friends with a band like that? They're really not that great, Daisuke."

"This blasphemy!" he cried, throwing his hands up in the air with an exaggerated flourish. "You know how much I had to finagle to get us those tickets in the first place? They're never going to let me back in to see them now!"

"There are better bands out there anyway! Who cares about those wannabe losers?"

"Don't tell me who to love!"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Taichi before the pair's tempers became too heated. His grin spread slowly across his face, eyebrows creased slyly. "Are you saying we're friends?"

Mimi's eyes widened. She exchanged knowing looks with Taichi, who winked at her, and she hid her grin just as Daisuke's glare found her face. She fixed her expression into one of innocent questioning. "But I thought you said clients couldn't be friends?"

Taichi feigned ecstatic delight. "You mean after all these long weeks, wishing and praying and hoping, I'm finally getting out of the dreaded just-a-client circle?"

"I think you are," declared Mimi.

Daisuke opened his mouth, then shut it quickly, gritting his teeth.

In the younger man's confusion, Taichi's hand darted out, grabbing Daisuke's. "So how should we celebrate the official beginning of our newfound friendship?"

"Taking photobooth pictures?" offered Mimi.

"Sharing a fountain soda with three straws?" countered Taichi.

"Making friendship bracelets?"

"Swearing a blood oath?"

"Having a pajama party?"

"Frolicking in a field?"

Daisuke spoke at last, terrified. "You're both insane."

"Frolicking, it is," Taichi declared, and Mimi swooped in on Daisuke's other side, looping her arms around his. She squeezed his muscled forearm, burying her cheek in the curve of his shoulder, while Taichi continued yanking on Daisuke's other hand with maniacal levels of enthusiasm.

Daisuke groaned, trying to pry their fingers off of him, but they wouldn't budge. "Let me go, you music-hating freaks!" he shouted over their laughter, alarming the bystanders outside the club. But no matter how violently Daisuke tried to shake them off, they held on, latching onto him like overly affectionate leeches, dragging him kicking and hollering between them until, in the end, even he couldn't keep the grin off his face.


	5. Keep Me Warm Inside Our Bed

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

* * *

_Keep me warm inside our bed_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

"Strawberry."

The ice cream scooper moved to the pink container.

"No. Chocolate."

The handle continued to the left side and stopped at the next tub.

"Wait. Strawberry."

It returned slowly to the pink, lingering uncertainly. And, sure enough, no sooner did the large metal spoon begin to descend into the container did the next interruption sound:

"Chocolate. Definitely chocolate."

The man appeared ready to give up on life. "Are you sure?" he deadpanned in a soulless voice.

Mimi tapped a thin finger to her bottom lip, pretty eyes narrowed to a sliver of hazel. "…No."

Jyou pulled out his wallet, extracting two crisp bills. "We'll take one cone of each, please."

"Two scoops a piece," instructed Mimi, flashing a charming smile at the disgruntled ice cream parlor attendant. She paused, "Wait, no—I'd like one scoop of the chocolate and two of the strawberry, but I'd like the chocolate one to have—actually, could you make that three and have one cone mixed?"

Jyou put another larger bill on the glass counter. His eyes met the attendant's glare, and he offered the man a small, empathetic smile. "I appreciate this."

The couple left the store a few moments later, wallet considerably lighter as hands balanced three ice cream cones. Mimi slurped happily between the strawberry and chocolate in either hand, nose crinkling the way it did when she was perfectly content.

"Happy now?" Jyou asked her, careful not to spill the mixed strawberry and chocolate cone he was holding onto for her.

"Very," she chirped.

They stopped at a bench a few blocks away so Mimi could devote all of her concentration to eating, instead of wasting precious energy on walking as well. Jyou held whichever of the three cones she was not working through, leaning back and raising his face to the warm autumn sun.

"It's always nice when it doesn't rain on my days off."

"You could always take more days off," she pointed out, licking her way around the chocolate.

"It doesn't work that way in hospitals," he said. "We all pitch in on these rotating schedules. If I asked for time off, it would just go to someone else. It would be unfair to change things without good reason. I couldn't let the rest of the team down."

Mimi paused to smile at his kindness. "Sometimes I think you're too good for me."

He raised an eyebrow, surprised, adjusting his glasses. "Nothing's too good for you, Mimi."

She rolled her eyes. "See? Even your compliments are too good."

"I'm just being honest," he shrugged, pleased just the same when she laughed again. She had the most infectious laugh. It spread all through her, from the curl of her fingertips to the brightness of her eyes, making her glow in this ethereal way. He didn't think she ever looked more beautiful than she did when she laughed.

"Well, then," she said after a minute of giggles, "what would Dr. Kido like to do for the rest of his day off, honestly?"

"Whatever you want."

"No, Jyou, I asked you first."

"I mean it. I'm happy with anything today. We could even sit right here on the bench all afternoon, but I know you'd get bored, so tell me what you want to do and we'll do that. That's what I want."

She smiled again at his words, but this time she felt uncomfortable, and it confused her. Shaking the feeling away, she finished off the last of the chocolate ice cream cone and moved onto the strawberry flavor. "How about the bookstore?"

"Sounds fine. Are you looking for something specific?"

She hesitated, unsure, then admitted, "Well, the new Red Guide just came out. I'd be curious to see what restaurants made it this year."

"You should pick one to go to for your birthday," he suggested.

She nodded, "I was thinking the same. But I also thought I'd see if there were any restaurants around here that I could visit during the low season."

"To eat?"

"To learn," she said. Her voice was suddenly quite small, and she was staring straight into the hole she had made with her tongue in the middle of the strawberry scoop, eyeing the ice cream as though it had been the one confessing her intentions rather than she herself.

His frown was light on his face, and he leaned into her. "Are you embarrassed to be telling me this?"

She immediately shook her head, insistent. "No, not embarrassed. It's just… it's not like it's a sure thing. It's probably never going to happen. I was gonna wait to tell you until I found a chef I could learn from, because I didn't want to come up empty next to you." She stopped talking, shifting her knees awkwardly.

"Next to me?" he repeated in a soft voice, staring at her as though for the first time.

She stuffed a scoop of ice cream into her mouth so she couldn't answer, and he knew that she would not say anything more, a feat that only happened on the rarest and darkest of occasions.

He sighed, lowering his hands to his lap, careful not to let the mixed cone slip in his fingers. "Whatever you do, Mimi, you know I support you."

She nodded, mumbling something incomprehensible as she swallowed. "I know," she said softly. _That's the problem._

"Kido? Kido Jyou?"

They both glanced down the footpath, and the young medical resident broke into a wide, surprised smile, while Mimi gave a shocked start, spilling the strawberry cone onto her lap. She stifled a cry, averting her eyes from the approaching pair and searching her purse for a tissue to salvage her dress, while Jyou rose from the bench, unaware of her predicament for the moment.

Yamato reached them first, holding out a hand, which Jyou shook warmly. "How long has it been?"

"It has to be at least six years," exclaimed Jyou, grinning. "You look exactly the same."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?" chuckled Yamato, and Jyou sputtered an incoherent and polite protest, flustered, which his former college classmate waved off. He was wearing gym clothes, blond hair damp and sticky against the sweaty skin of his forehead. Then he remembered his manners, gesturing at the man beside him, likewise dressed for a friendly pick-up game and carrying a basketball under his arm. "This is Yagami Taichi, family friend. Taichi, this is Jyou. We went to college together."

But Taichi neither responded nor accepted the handshake Jyou offered him, his attention diverted elsewhere. Jyou followed the man's gaze, spying at last the puddle of melting ice cream all over his girlfriend's clothes.

"Mimi, your dress!" He pulled out a handkerchief, bending over her, but she hastily pushed him back, cheeks pink.

"I'm fine," she insisted weakly, face downturned, frustrated that she couldn't stop blushing. She finally found a pack of tissues in her purse, rubbing the fragile paper hard against the thin cloth of her dress. If anything, it made the stain worse, and she stared at the mess in dismay.

"I'll get you some water," said Jyou, already scanning the small park.

"Wait, no, it's really not a—,"

"We passed a water fountain a few yards back," said Yamato, squinting down the small dirt road that curved around and through the park. He pointed at a block of concrete restrooms, "In there I think."

"I'll be right back." He started to hand her the mixed strawberry and chocolate ice cream cone, but she jumped to her feet, frustrated.

"I'll go," she said, pushing the cone back at him, "it's my dress."

Jyou heard the frustration in her voice and glanced at her, forehead creased, but that did nothing to assuage her nerves. She was not certain why she was becoming irritable, but the confusion only made her more so, and she actively avoided everyone's gazes. Taking the handkerchief he still held outstretched to her, she marched off down the path.

_Men_, she thought, pressing the knob on the side of the water fountain and soaking the handkerchief. "He always does this," she complained under her breath.

"Yeah, I hate that considerate shit," said a sarcastic voice, but Mimi did not look up this time.

"It's none of your business," she snapped, sopping up the last of the water in the shallow basin of the fountain, then dabbing at her dress.

Taichi shook his head in disapproval, stepping in front of her to unscrew the top of his plastic water bottle. He bent over the fountain, letting the water fill up inside the container slowly. "You know, what girls like you don't understand is guys like us _want_ to take care of things."

Her irritation only worsened. "Right, and taking care of her worked out well for you, didn't it?"

Taichi's brown eyes widened, head tilted to the side as he appraised her for a tense moment. "Okay, Mimi," he said lowly, "you want to tell me why you're being such a bitch today?"

She bristled at the name-calling, even if she regretted the underhanded insult she had thrown at him the second it left her lips. She opened her mouth to apologize gruffly, or to snap another retort, but instead she blurted out through gritted teeth, "Jyou's perfect."

"I think that's been established," said Taichi.

"Do you know what it's like dating someone who's that perfect?"

He tossed his head back. "Well, I've been told that I'm quite—,"

"It just makes you feel like nothing you do is good enough," she said softly, and he stopped. She fingered the edge of the stain on her dress, halfheartedly dabbing at the dark, pink mess. "He has all these great plans for his life, and he works so hard for them. And what do I have?" She pinched the sides of her dress and tried to air dry her damp dress, shaking the cloth with little enthusiasm, expression miserable.

Taichi held his tongue, considering his response as he studied her carefully.

Then he sighed, "Well, for one, you have terrible coordination. How difficult is it balance an ice cream cone? While sitting _down_?"

She pulled a face at him, the smirk drawing unbidden on her lips just the same.

"Second, you have a big mouth. Don't ever talk about her."

Ashamed, Mimi offered her remorse in a whisper, head bowed, "I'm sorry I said that."

He continued as though she hadn't spoken, seemingly unaffected by the apology, or at least uninterested in it. He set the water bottle on the edge of the fountain and said calmly, "Third, you have your own life, your own dreams, your own ways. It doesn't matter if it's different than his, and the point isn't to compare yourselves. I think if you tried talking to him, he'd say the same, too."

Surprised by his words, she could find nothing to say but returned her gaze to her dress, waving its hem in the air again, her actions meek.

"And last, you have poor washing techniques. Stand still."

Her eyes snapped up and her jaw dropped as Taichi cupped the spout of the water fountain, narrowed his eyes as he took aim, and launched a spray of water so violently at her dress that it splattered against her entire front. She shrieked, stumbling back, and he shouted at her to stay where she was, relentless in his determination. She dropped the handkerchief, waving her hands to slap the water back at him—a ridiculously futile defensive strategy—and he lazily dodged the droplets that fell dramatically short of reaching any portion of his body.

"Stop!" she cried, stepping out of range from the spout, and Taichi laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Why, did I get the stain out?"

The coloring had indeed washed out, but Mimi refused to admit this, furious.

Taichi's eyes glinted. "You know, don't look half bad wet."

She launched herself at the fountain, flicking water into his face with maniacal revenge. He sputtered, yelling, and their screeching reached across the park to the bench where Jyou and Yamato were waiting. Jyou straightened, eyeing a frantic Mimi with slight concern, but it was Yamato's dismissive snort that distracted him. He glanced at the blond man lounging on the bench, blue eyes disinterested in the spectacle before them, balancing the basketball on lanky knees.

"Don't worry about it," he told Jyou. "In his own obnoxious way, he's just messing with her so she'll stop worrying about her dress. He considers it fun to act like a childish ass."

Jyou relaxed after Yamato's reassurance, watching the pair of them out of the corner of his eye. "Childlike or childish?"

"Childish," insisted Yamato. "I think he's gotten even more so after what happened. It's easier to avoid having to face your life if you refuse to grow up." Then he added with a hint of disapproval, "That's not how adults deal with problems."

Jyou was thoughtful, considering his old friend's words and the conversation they had been having before the interruption. The coincidence of running into the pair became even more so when Yamato recognized Mimi and explained the connection, and Jyou was pleased at last to put a face to the name of the man to whom Mimi and Daisuke had taken such a liking in recent months. But after hearing more about him, Jyou wasn't so sure it was truly untreated misery that Taichi's humorous nature was hiding. Even if it wasn't the common way to deal with pain, did it make it the wrong way?

"Maybe not for some people," he consented at last, "but others have a hard time talking about difficult situations. Mimi will talk your ear off about anything, but if it's a real issue, she'll try avoiding it well before facing it. We were actually just getting into something before, but I think she was glad to drop it when you guys came."

"I guess I'm like that, too," Yamato admitted, tilting his head back. His memory travelled back to familiar soft brown eyes and auburn hair, and he shook his head of the image, heartbeat quickening. "When she's ready, she'll talk about it."

"I hope so."

Yamato pressed forward, changing the subject to get Sora's face out of his mind more than anything else, but he would never admit it aloud. "It's really good to see you again. Takeru was playing with us today; he's gonna be sorry he missed running into you."

Jyou smiled, remembering Yamato's friendly younger brother with a fond grin. "I would have liked to see him, too. Next day I have off from the hospital, I'll give you a call."

There was another panicked shout, and Jyou glanced back to the public toilets to see Mimi grinding his wet handkerchief into Taichi's ear, revenge won. She ducked a retaliatory swipe of his hand and ran back to them, laughing as she collapsed, thoroughly drenched, onto the bench by Jyou's other side. She held out her hand for the ice cream he was still holding for her, as a reward for winning the water fight. Jyou chuckled, "You're soaked through, and you want cold ice cream?"

"It's going to melt!" she protested.

"Shouldn't we give this to Taichi for helping you?"

Mimi sputtered, horrified. "Helping me?" she screeched, and Jyou winced, just as Taichi arrived to likewise deride such a grossly untrue summary of events.

"I don't like strawberry anyway," said Taichi with disdain.

Yamato snorted, "No one is offering you any."

"Get your own," agreed Mimi, taking the mixed cone before Jyou could try to give it away again.

"Maybe I will," warned Taichi stubbornly. Then he stopped, his eyes widening.

Yamato groaned. "Are you seriously wanting one now? What are you, five?"

"Be right back," he hollered, already striding off, "the mint chocolate chip is calling me."

Mimi, who had opened her mouth to take a big gulp of her strawberry and chocolate, froze, eyes shining. Jyou recognized the look right away and he couldn't stop his smile. "You want another one, too?"

"Be right back," she declared, quickly shoving the rest of the cone into her mouth and scrambling after Taichi, who refused to walk with her and quickened his pace over her protests.

"Simple minds think alike," said Yamato dryly, sinking even lower on the bench as they settled back to wait.

Jyou paused, eyebrow arched, and he demanded with feigned offense, "Are you calling my girlfriend simple?"

Yamato's glowing blush turned his head into an unusual sort of blond-haired tomato, and he looked so mortified with himself that Jyou almost felt bad for teasing.


	6. I Got Dreams Of You All Through My Head

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note**: I think there may be a pattern in the way I write Takeru, in that he's a little cheeky, snarky, and full of mischief. He's the same in the show, but it often gets dubbed out. But I am here for you, my little blond prince. You do you. Thanks for reading.

* * *

_I got dreams of you all through my head_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Takaishi Takeru did not expect his friend to remember their half-made plans for that morning, not after a night out. He did not hurry himself, thinking he'd wait for the apology email that usually accompanied their failed rendezvous attempts in the past. He leisurely rode the train to work, casually bought himself a take-out breakfast from the corner bakery, and slowly made his way up to the cramped, tiny office on the eleventh floor of the city's newspaper building. He was met with the usual amount of post-it notes and reminders tacked to every inch of desk and wall space not already devoted to memos, deadlines, and articles, and he munched on the blueberry scone absentmindedly as he read through each one. Co-workers regularly interrupted his morning routine, and he was not the sort to deny himself chitchat at the workplace, however inane. Thus, it was well towards the lunch hour that Takeru even got around to listening to his phone messages, and the instant he pressed play for the first one, he immediately regretted waiting so long.

_"Takaishi!"_ was all the message contained, but Takeru winced anyway, blue eyes pressed into thin slits as he glanced meagerly at the clock on the wall.

Okay, so he did remember.

Cursing, Takeru grabbed his wallet and jacket, leaping down the hallway to the elevator. He had enough forethought to choose a restaurant relatively close to work, and it was inside there that he found him, sitting with his legs cramped up under a tiny table directly beside the door, clutching a half-cold cup of coffee, and silently condemning the happiness in the other patrons' faces with demonic resentment.

After placing his order with the overworked barista, Takeru strode towards him, sliding into the chair opposite and flashing him an innocent grin. "Aren't you dapper in the mornings?"

"You're late," bellowed Taichi loud enough to frighten a couple seated nearby, his face screwed up like a petulant toddler gravely wronged.

Takeru reached over to cuff his chin affectionately. "Just like a little angel."

"Oh, fuck off," and he supplied the rude hand gesture to cement his feelings exactly.

"What was it, whiskey?"

The older man winced, visibly shaken at the memory of the night before. He didn't recall much of the evening, aside from a drunk Koushiro crooning the lyrics of the newest hit song on the karaoke machine, accompanied by the rest of the co-workers in their department during the after-work siesta that had turned into a host of terrible decisions. He rubbed his temples, inwardly groaning. Brown eyes narrowed, he admitted after a moment of serious consideration, "No, I think it was the tequila."

"You know you and tequila don't mix." Takeru accepted the espresso a waiter carried to him, taking a little sip and cringing when it burned his tongue. He set the cup down quickly, sucking on his lip, mouth pulled down into a whimpering frown.

"Oh, I know," said Taichi, rolling his eyes. "The hair on my leg finally grew back to the appropriate length, by the way."

"You were begging me to do it."

"Do you always do what people beg of you?"

Crystal blue eyes winked slyly. "Depends on who's begging."

At that, Taichi laughed at last, relaxing for the first time since Takeru sat down. The younger man considered it a personal victory to have lightened his friend's mood, something he had never had a problem with in the years they had known each other. But he paid extra care these days to ensure he could make Taichi smile more often, whether or not Taichi knew.

He took a minute then to study him carefully. The circles were deep under warm brown eyes, the slouch heavy in his shoulders. His hair was a bit messier than usual, but it was typically unkempt in the first place. Nothing stood out as anything worth reporting back to those more concerned than he, but Takeru thought he understood the mystery that was Yagami Taichi a little better than most. To hear Yamato talk about it, Taichi was being immature by willfully ignoring the recent past, and Hikari thought he wasn't allowing himself the opportunity to heal. Takeru recognized where each came from with these diagnoses, but he didn't see it that way. All he saw was a need for a friend and a good laugh.

Well, that and another good thing that usually came with the right sort of friend, though Taichi hadn't given any indication of interest in that area just yet. Luckily for all involved, it just so happened that that was the one area in which Takeru fashioned himself a sort of an expert. If Yamato was Taichi's unflinchingly steady rock; Hikari, his sympathetic moral compass; and Sora, his enduringly supportive shoulder; then Takeru was perfectly content being Taichi's shaman through the world of dating again. This wasn't a decision he had told anyone really, especially not his brother, but in his experience, the best way to get over someone was to get—

"—no idea why they're being so stubborn, do you?"

Takeru gave a start, lips pressed together in shame. "About what?" he asked meekly.

"Yamato and Sora," said Taichi, annoyed at having to repeat himself. "The other day, I had Sora over for dinner, and when Yamato called up from the lobby, she got mad at me. She said I shouldn't try to ambush them like that, but she left in this big huff, all before I could tell her that Yamato had no idea she'd be there, and I had no idea he was dropping by after work. They wouldn't even talk to each other."

Takeru wanted to point out the irony of Taichi complaining about someone else not opening up, but he thought better of it. He picked up the little spoon that came with his coffee and stirred what didn't need stirring. He knew this, but he also knew it was something to keep his guilty gaze distracted. "You know what they're like. They're private people."

Taichi was reading him like a book, the way he always had. He was obtusely honest about it as well, to Takeru's great annoyance. "Do you know why they broke up?"

"People want different things. They grow up, they change."

It was a bullshit answer, and Takeru did not bother trying to give it any substance. He stubbornly stuck to his story, the line he'd given repeatedly to others equally curious. But Taichi's curiosity was on an obsessive level sometimes, and if there was one lesson he had never learned, it was when to let things go.

"You do know," said Taichi definitively, and the silence confirmed it. "Is it really that bad? What did he—?"

Takeru protested at once, swooping to his brother's defense with rigid fierceness. "It's nothing like that. It's nothing at all," he added hastily when he saw the glint in the other man's eyes. "I mean, I know nothing."

"You shouldn't lie to your elders, Takeru."

Takeru snorted, amused, and scratched the back of his head as he leaned in his chair, legs spread lazily under the table. "Next time I meet one, I'll be sure to be more respectful."

"What, you don't respect me?" He puffed up his chest, straightening in his chair to assume an authoritative pose.

The effect was lost completely on the younger blond, who blew on the his coffee, unmoved. "Not since Hikari and I dated in high school. You stopped being scary when I didn't have to impress you anymore."

"Fine," drawled Taichi surly. "And for the record, I never found you impressive."

"What about Willis? You think he's better than me?"

"By a mile. I can still make him cower if I stare at him long enough."

Takeru laughed, picturing the trio at Hikari's apartment, assembled around her polished oak coffee table, Taichi with his withering glare, Willis with his shifty discomfort, and Hikari with her face in her hands, praying for the torment to end. That was exactly how it had been when they were all still in high school, though Taichi had not yet perfected the disapproving-older-brother-scowl at that point, so Takeru had been spared from the full force of it in that year he had been on the receiving end. He made a mental note to pass along some tips to Willis through Hikari, who had, after the right amount of time, become one of Takeru's closest friends since they parted ways.

Taichi sighed, sitting back defeatedly in his chair. He poked at his coffee cup. "You really aren't going to tell me what happened between them?"

"If they're not going to, it's not my place to do it for them." He paused, rocking on the back two legs of the chair, then reminded him, "You'd do the same, you know that."

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled. "It's just hard not being able to help. I like helping. They're my friends."

His mouth teased into a smug, knowing smile, which Taichi immediately wanted to smack right off his face.

"Don't start," he warned.

"You don't think it's the same thing?"

"It's not."

"Taichi—,"

"I said, don't."

Takeru was starting to lose his temper, letting his chair fall back on its four legs with a thud. "I think this is less about you wanting to help them than it is about you needing to distract yourself by doing everything else."

"If I want your opinion, I'll read your newspaper column."

"You're being a hypocrite."

"You want to know why I think Sora and Yamato won't talk to me about it?" he asked suddenly, expression masked with anger as he violently took up his coffee cup and swallowed a huge gulp. "It's because they think they shouldn't bother me with their problems when I've got my own, like their breakup is somehow going to make mine less important."

"That's ridiculous—,"

"Then explain to me why else my two best friends don't want to confide in me?" He clenched his fist on the table, still holding his coffee in the other tightly. He spoke hollowly, bitter, like he was spitting out something he held onto for so long, it couldn't do anything but boil over. "It sucks, Takeru. It feels like hell to have people treating you like they have to censor what they tell you, just in case it reminds you of how much shittier your own life is."

"No one is treating you with kid gloves—,"

"Yeah? When is the last time you called to ask me to coffee?" Taichi threw up his free hand exasperatedly. "When is the last time we ever drank coffee and _only_ coffee together?"

Takeru sipped slowly, unruffled by the outburst. "The last time the bar wasn't open yet."

"The point is, it's pissing me off. I'm not so sensitive and unstable that they should feel like they can't tell me things. It's not like talking about their problems is going to make me forget I have my own, is it? It's not like she can leave again, can she?"

Taichi set his cup down so hard on its saucer that the little plate nearly shattered. Several customers jumped in their seats, startled, and Takeru flinched, cringing at the sound.

But Taichi heard none of it. His voice was cold, "I'm not stupid enough to think she took the best parts of me with her, but she took something. And I know she did. And I am living with the aftermath, so I don't want people walking on eggshells around me because they think I'm a landmine. You really think I don't know I'm half gone? I do know. I know I'm a shell. I know I'm empty."

"_Hey_."

Takeru's blue eyes had narrowed and, in his firm admonishment, he looked eerily similar to his older brother, too much for Taichi's liking. He reached over and took Taichi's hand, slamming it hard against the left side of the man's chest, covering his hand to force Taichi to keep his there and understand what was underneath.

"Feel that? It's still there. It's still beating. You're not empty yet."

Taichi sat back as Takeru let go of him. He let his fingers absentmindedly trace over the heart buried underneath, feeling his breath quicken. It was true. It was still there. It still went on beating, though Taichi couldn't understand why. Sometimes Taichi wanted nothing more for it to stop, for this all to be done with. He was tired of spending nights on the sofa because he still couldn't sleep in their bed by himself; sick of putting on that smile in front of friends who were all too ready to find the sorrow underneath; and afraid to look at his phone whenever it rang, because no matter how many times it did, he knew it would never be the one name he wanted to see so badly he couldn't breathe.

He just didn't understand.

Was he really not worth an explanation, a chance, an apology?

Was he really not good enough?

Forcing himself out of the suffocating thoughts, he took a deep, steadying breath and let his anger fade. He joked, "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a thing for groping Yagami chests."

The younger man shrugged nonchalantly, accepting the change in conversation more easily than others might, because he understood what it was like to be that afraid of his own heart. "I won't deny it."

"That's my sister you're talking about."

"You brought it up first."

"Watch it, Takaishi."

The door opened, slamming sharply into the back of Taichi's chair. He grunted, lurching forward, and the last sip of his drink spilled over the table as the cup and saucer overturned. Takeru dove for his own coffee, raising it into his hands to save it from the same fate. They both searched accusingly for the careless cause of the near accident—and they both froze.

"I'm so sorry," said the woman, speaking with a lilting accent that rolled over her tongue like music. Blue eyes widened with genuine concern, and she dropped her chin apologetically, biting a full lip. "Are you all right?"

"...Huh?" breathed Taichi, dumbfounded, jaw hanging open.

In spite of the stupid way he gaped at her, the woman smiled kindly, shaking soft blonde curls away from a heart-shaped face. She winked, "I'm glad to hear it."

Taichi watched her move to the counter, softly giving her order to the enchanted barista who was blushing under her gaze. He still had a hand over his chest, and he gripped his shirt, pointing to his heart and declaring in a low voice, "Takeru, I'm retracting my earlier statement. I'm feeling something."

His friend had not once taken his eyes from the woman either. He leaned forward in his chair like he was hoping he could magic her towards him through sheer animal magnetism, if he focused his gaze hard enough. "I'm feeling something, too, and it's not in my chest."

Taichi kicked the younger man's chair under the table, and Takeru yelped, struggling to keep his balance. "When did you grow up into such a pervert?"

"Probably around the time that Hikar—,"

His tone was slightly hysterical as he shook a finger at him. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Takeru brushed the threat aside, long since over the intimidation he had once acutely felt for his high school sweetheart's older brother. "Don't ask questions if you aren't prepared for the answers."

Taichi started to give him a stern lecture, but quickly shut his mouth when he spied the woman gliding effortlessly back towards them, moving for all the world like Takeru's tricks had worked and she was being pulled towards their table. Taichi watch, speechless, as she approached, carrying two drinks in her hand, one of which was in a to-go container. She held this one close to her chest and gently placed the other coffee cup and saucer on the table in front of Taichi.

Her accent was intoxicating. "Please take it. I'm so sorry for my clumsiness."

His cheeks reddened. "Oh—no, you didn't have to—,"

"Please," she insisted gently. "It's my pleasure. It would be the highlight of my day to treat you to coffee." She smiled again, and he was lost, stammering something wholly incoherent in response, his blush deepening to a rather ugly shade of burgundy when he heard, in horror, how inept he sounded. She only winked again, and her hand brushed his shoulder as she moved to the door behind him, jumpstarting his nerves in a way they had not been in far too long.

As soon as she left, Takeru whistled lowly. "Damn."

"You need to get yourself a girlfriend. I think you're actually drooling right now." Taichi shook himself out of the reverie, scowling at the blatant desire plastered over the younger blond's face. He picked up the new coffee cup, smelling the hint of her perfume lingering in the air around it. His arousal was difficult to deny, but something kept him back from admitting anything like it. He wasn't ready. He told himself this firmly, _Not yet. _

Ignoring his remarks, Takeru pointed frantically at the saucer on the table. "She gave you her number!"

Taichi choked, sputtering, but he saw that Takeru was right: on top of the little plate was a little business card, the woman's name and phone number printed in the middle aligned center in neat type. He bent to check it was indeed real and not a figment of his starved imagination.

"Catherine Deneuve," he read slowly. He sat back, chest tightening. "She's just being nice," he explained lamely, staring at the card in disbelief.

Takeru laughed, "Yeah, and she's hoping to be a hella lot nicer, too—,"

"Seriously, Takaishi? Do you think of nothing else?"

"Well, forgive me for being devilishly attractive."

"You're the only one who thinks that."

"Absolutely false," he dismissed with a flick of his wrist, then picked up the card, turning it over. "It's been almost four months. You should call."

"Forget it," said Taichi at once, voice hardening dangerously, but Takeru either didn't hear it or optimistically ignored it.

"Fine. I'll call her." He purred her name in the perfect French accent he reserved for charming a particularly worthy woman, "I think the lady Catherine Deneuve would prefer a blond anyway."

He barked irritably, "She didn't give it to you!"

"Aha," and Takeru winked, saluting him with the business card between his fingers. "You do want to call her."

He snatched the card back. "No," said Taichi in a matter-of-face voice, feigning dignity with his chin upturned. "I just don't want to subject a girl like that to a guy like you."

"You subjected your sister to—,"

"Watch it, Takaishi."


	7. Fortune Teller Said I'd Be Free

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note**: Just in case anyone was wondering...Catherine Deneuve is not an OC. She is a canon character, and, in my opinion, the show's creators couldn't have picked a better French actress to name the French Digidestined child after. Vive la France! *throws confetti* As always, thanks for reading.

* * *

_Fortune teller said I'd be free_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

The argument seemed to happen every year, because he inevitably did something every year to stir her worry. This time, the memory fresh in her mind, she shook her head with resounding finality and popped another grape into her mouth. "I'm thinking of going low-key this year."

Daisuke guffawed loudly. "You? Low-key?" He swallowed a gulp of water, coughing. "Weren't you wearing a tiara the entire night last year," he paused, "_a__nd _the week after?"

She did not confirm it, though Taichi noticed she didn't deny it either. He chuckled, reaching for his water bottle. It now went without requiring prior invitation that Taichi ate most lunches of the week in Mimi's catering kitchen, and these days he had been bringing along his co-worker, Izumi Koushiro. The redhead had fit in well with the others, mostly amusing himself with the trio's sometimes inane conversation rather than participating much himself, though Daisuke had openly declared that he was relieved Taichi no longer felt like a third wheel, dutifully ignoring the older man when he stated he had felt nothing of the sort.

They were gathered around one of the steel tables just behind the reception area that day, seated on stools. Koushiro poked at the noodles in his take-out lunch doubtfully and glanced at the delicious, meaty sandwich Daisuke had made for himself, which Taichi had to admit did look appetizing. But he kept his attention on the subject at hand, dark brown eyes settling on the way her bottom lip formed a perfect pout at being teased. She was slightly frazzled today, her hair swept up in a messy bun at the top of her head, apron front dirtied with what he suspected was chocolate sauce. He knew she was distracted and worried about something because she ate only her grapes, systematically popping them into her mouth one after the other, brow furrowed. He'd brought up her birthday celebration plans in hopes of making her smile, but all it seemed to do was make the glower deepen on her small mouth, though Taichi couldn't understand why she wouldn't be happy talking about herself.

"You're definitely the type to make a big deal about your special day," he observed with a shrug.

Mimi bristled. "Nevertheless, we all have to grow up sometime." She seemed to be directing this comment specifically to Daisuke, who was oblivious. "For example, shall I tell them what you did for your birthday, Daisuke, or would you like the honor?"

"Go ahead." He ballooned up like an overly confident puffer fish. "I am not embarrassed."

Mimi rounded on Taichi, fingers drumming the counter, and recalled the tale with grave disapproval. "Captain Try-Hard over here got drunk and ran naked into open traffic."

"I'm sorry?" Koushiro choked.

Mimi looked vindicated and Taichi clapped his friend on the back, trying not to laugh himself.

"It was a streak through a private parking lot," Daisuke corrected her crossly, resenting the exaggeration. "And I was not naked. I had my chef's hat respectfully protecting my perfection from those who do not deserve to see it."

"Ah, yes, so few do these days."

"I still don't understand," interrupted Taichi loudly before Daisuke could retort, "why that means you aren't having a party?"

"Every year she says I steal her thunder. That, and she's afraid I'm gonna make an ass of myself."

"I'm more afraid of you _showing _your—,"

He swallowed a huge bit of his sandwich and glared at her. "I will show love the way I show love, dammit. Quit trying to change me, woman!"

Her sigh was trying, as Koushiro and Taichi exchanged bemused looks. "And so, I don't want a party this year."

"She wants one," decided Daisuke, ignoring her protests.

"Well, even if I did, where would it be? Jyou's schedule is already overworked, so having it at home wouldn't be fair with all the noise if he has to go to bed early. And I don't think we're invited back to the place we went to for your birthday."

The criticism, like most he received, washed right over his head, leaving his healthy sense of self-worth perfectly unscathed. "Here!" He gestured wildly around, his flailing arms alarming one of the bakery part-time assistants who glowed red, thinking he was pointing at her. "No, not you—,"

"_Daisuke_—,"

Koushiro intervened in the potential squabble this time. "You know, there's a theater that lets you rent the smaller rooms by the hour for private events. It's very vintage, lots of draperies and curtains."

Mimi nodded, interest peaked. "Oh, that's right. Wasn't that where you had your parents' anniversary party we catered?"

"Ah," said Taichi with a grin, "so that's where all this magic began. See, if Koushiro hadn't recommended you, then you and I would have never met. You can't fake serendipity like this. You should definitely have it there."

"A 'return to the scene of the crime' would be a better theme for that," said Daisuke darkly, and Taichi threw him a look.

She was starting to break, though if she were honest with herself, she would have expected something to happen anyway. She loved parties, especially parties featuring herself, but she hadn't felt much like celebrating lately. They had taken on a few more clients than they normally did this time of year, unable to turn down the potential for profit even if it meant a busier schedule, and attendance at these events was draining her. She hadn't seen Jyou in four days, even despite sharing the same apartment, and she knew she was more irritable than normal, finding herself wistfully staring at her dog-eared copy of the newest Red Guide in those moments when she thought no would catch her wallowing in what ifs and other wonders.

"It's just a really busy time," she said lamely.

"Oh, come off it. You're gonna complain if you don't get one, and then you're gonna complain if you do." Daisuke scrunched up his nose and hung his head, like he was pitying her, though Mimi knew it was really himself he felt sorry for, as he'd be the one having to listen to the complaints either way.

"Do you promise to keep your clothes on?"

"How many times has a woman asked you that, Daisuke?" laughed Taichi.

"Go fuck yourself."

Koushiro began thoughtfully, "How many times has a woman sai—?"

The younger man smacked his sandwich down on the wrapper, shaking a warning finger at the redhead across from him. "You know, I'm starting to change my mind about letting you into this club."

"_Letting_ me?" repeated Koushiro, rather offended.

Mimi hissed at him before another argument could break out, "Well, do you promise?"

"I promise," he drawled.

"I could probably talk to my old contact at the theater," offered Koushiro. "Maybe he'll give a discount for a returning client?"

"The fates are aligning, Mimi," said Taichi.

Holding her breath, she paused for a moment, relishing the attention from the three of them, and then nodded. "Okay," she said simply, unable to keep her excitement contained. Maybe this was just what she needed to get out of her slump.

Taichi gripped Koushiro's shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Good man! You can be my date. You'll make me feel like half a power couple with all your connections."

The redhead shrugged modestly, then let the grin creep onto his face with a knowing glance. "I kind of figured you'd have a date, Taichi. Maybe a certain lady who bought you a certain cup of coffee last week?"

Taichi's eyes widened. "It's nothing," he started to say, but it was too late.

Mimi was staring at him with a funny expression, mouth forming an "o" as the grape she had been about to eat remained between her frozen fingers, and Daisuke was beside himself with glee. "Oh, do tell," he cooed, leaning forward and wiggling his eyebrows. "You sly dog."

Itching for something to do with his hands so he could stem an embarrassed blush, Taichi started tugging at his hair, pulling the curls over his forehead as he hid his face. "What time is it? Should we head back to the office?"

"Don't try to change the subject," laughed Koushiro, who did not seem to pick up on the warning glance his co-worker had sent. "I caught you this morning running a web search on her name."

Daisuke lit up like a child on Christmas morning, while Koushiro at last started to feel just the slightest bit remorseful for poking fun. He picked up his tray of noodles and shrugged when Taichi tossed him an exasperated sigh.

In all this, Mimi had continued nervously stuffing her mouth with grape after grape and now resembled a rather pink chipmunk. Daisuke reached over to stab her fat cheeks with his finger and she swatted at him, swallowing. "Is she pretty?" she teased along with the rest, speaking inarticulately with a mouth so full.

"It doesn't matter," said Taichi irritably, staring everywhere except at any of his friends. "I'm not asking her out. I'm not asking anyone out."

Her shoulders relaxed, while Daisuke wrinkled his nose. "She's a troll, isn't she?"

Mimi flicked his ear, clicking her tongue. "Who raised you?"

"What's her name?"

"Catherine," answered Koushiro just as Taichi barked at Daisuke to mind his own business.

Taichi crumpled the napkin in his hands, slamming down the top of his take-out box. "This is the last time I'm letting you come here with me, Koushiro."

The redhead gaped, "What is with all this _letting_ of me? Where's my autonomy here?"

Daisuke interrupted his internal crisis, asking Taichi, "What's so terrible about people knowing?"

"I don't have a problem with people knowing things," said Taichi testily. "But this particular thing is not a thing to be known."

"But she bought you coffee."

"Yes, the universal sign for romantic interest." Taichi shook his head curtly, the annoyed scowl going unnoticed by all except a quietly observant Mimi.

Daisuke held up his hands, alarmed. "Whoa, whoa. Slow down. No one is talking about romance here. This is dating."

Mimi flicked his ear again. "Can't you two see he doesn't want to talk about it? Leave him alone." She rose from her seat, gathering up the sandwich wrappers and dirty plates from their lunch and avoiding the dark brown eyes that followed her movements.

"Mimi's right," Koushiro pushed back his stool, standing to help her, and Daisuke stretched his arms into the air with a defeated sigh. The redhead nodded apologetically at his friend. "It's nice sometimes just to get noticed. That's all I really meant."

"At least you know you've still got it," consented Daisuke.

"You, on the other hand...," and Taichi deliberately trailed off.

Daisuke faked a punch to his shoulder, which he easily dodged. "Nice or not, Taichi," he said with a chuckle, "I think it might be good for you."

"So they tell me," said Taichi noncommittally.

"They would be right."

"Well, they aren't me."

"I think you should at least—,"

"I am really done talking about this," interrupted Taichi, voice calm but low.

For the first time that afternoon, Daisuke took the hint, exchanging looks with a frowning Koushiro, who shook his head at him. They changed the subject at the same time, but Taichi had already gotten up and packed away his lunch, not paying attention to their conversation as he went to the sink to wash his hands.

Mimi was there, rinsing plates. He could feel her eyes resting on him, and he braced himself, biting back a scowl.

"They're just being idiots," she said at last, dismissive of the entire conversation.

Taichi considered this, recalling the way their faces had lit up when the topic had first been raised. He shrugged, "Idiotic friends, sure. I've got plenty of those." He hesitated, "I _am_ one of those."

She did not speak to his musings, but continued her own thought. "It's only because they want to see you happy."

"I am happy." And he wasn't lying, which surprised him. She was smiling when he looked up again, and he grinned, winking. After a moment, he prodded her casually, "How's Jyou?"

"Busy," she answered automatically. "Why?"

"Remember, water fountain fight?"

Her eyes brightened, then darkened at once, mouth small and pursed. "Mm-hm."

"Hey, it got the stain out, didn't it?"

It was true, but she still flicked a soap bubble at him, and it popped on the sleeve of his white button-up shirt. He groaned, rubbing at the tiny circular mark it left behind, and she refused to apologize, considering her revenge justly deserved.

Letting the water run over the soap mark, he continued, "You seemed like you were worried over talking to him about something. Is everything okay now?"

Her surprise at his interest should not have been so great, and she was admonished herself for thinking he wouldn't be concerned about her life. They were friends now, and he had helped her in that moment, making her anxieties a little less so in his own way. So she said after another pause, "Yes," even though it wasn't true.

Taichi appeared satisfied with her answer, nodding. "Good." He rolled down his sleeve to let it dry, no mark left behind.

Before he could walk away, she reached across the sink and covered his hand with hers, squeezing it. She lowered her voice, hoping she sounded understanding and not persistent like the others. "You have to take the leap sometime."

"I know. I will," he said, his thumb tracing the inside of her palm reflexively. "Just not now."

Koushiro cleared his throat, interrupting them, and Mimi immediately withdrew her hand. She stuffed both fists into the pockets of her apron, feeling the warmth of his skin on her fingertips. Her fingers curled tightly together, wanting to remember how he felt, and then in the next moment forced her hands to relax, guiltily shaking the confusing numbness out of her head.

Daisuke sniffed in a dignified way as they approached. "Still mad, are you?"

Taichi widened his eyes, clutching his chest in mock pain. "Me? At you?"

He didn't respond to the joking humor, face serious. "For being too pushy," he muttered, glancing at Koushiro again.

The other man rubbed the back of his head meekly, brow furrowed. "We didn't mean anything by it," he apologized.

Taichi stared between them. "This might be the most emotional lunch I have ever had."

"What, and now I can't even be honest with you?" said Daisuke hotly, scrunching up his face again. "You people get all mad when I'm not considerate, then you turn right around and ridicule all my attempts, just when I—,"

A slow, grateful grin had been spreading across Taichi's face throughout Daisuke's grumpy speech, amused. Before he could react, Taichi grabbed his face, yanking him down by the ears, and kissed the top of his head, squeezing him like the annoying little brother he had never wanted and probably always needed. "All right, all right. How's this? I demand a new promise, overriding all those before: don't let anyone stop your obnoxious self from streaking through parking lots, chef hat or no."

"You hear that, Mimi?" the younger man hollered after he playfully shoved Taichi off him, pumping a victorious fist into the air. "That's good enough permission for me!"

She groaned. _Every_ year….


	8. And That's The Day You Came To Me

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

* * *

_And that's the day you came to me_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Between the white, the dark purple, the pinstriped black, and the cherry red button-up, Taichi had tried on all the nice shirts he could find before throwing his hands into the air, barely containing a strangled yell, and falling across the bed with dramatic desperation. Blindly reaching towards the pillow, he took up the phone and rolled over on his back, gripping his hair tightly in his other hand. He reopened the first text conversation at the top of the most recent list and punched the keypad with angry resolution.

_**not going**_

Within a minute, the answer came.

_**Wear the blue one.**_

In spite of his mood, Taichi smiled as he reread the short message, then slowly typed his reply.

_**cant. havent done laundry **__**& im not going**_

He stared at the little thinking dots at the bottom left of the screen, waiting for the answer to appear once it sent. It felt like an eternity, watching the dots blink slowly at a pace that defied time and space, until at last the response appeared, and he relaxed again when he finally read it.

_**The black then. With the pinstripes. Do you have time to iron it?**_

He snorted, amused.

_**an iron? whats that? **__**& im not going**_

The next text came slower than the others, and he imagined her leaning back against the counter, hair braided into a pigtail, cheeks streaked with powdered sugar and hands stained by the colored fondant her small fingers had been kneading all day. He saw her biting her lip in concentration, fingers flying quickly over each tiny detail, but moving with care and exactness. She was probably working on the last tier of the wedding cake scheduled for delivery that evening, and Daisuke was probably already packing up for the event, securing into their boxes the tiny little toppers carved from marzipan and sugar.

It was likely the second of the three she had made that Daisuke packed, for Taichi had inadvertently squashed the face of the first bride figurine when he had poked it to see how soft it was. She had yelled at him for nearly ten minutes straight, which he admittedly deserved, but it was so difficult not to give into the childish temptation to antagonize her when she looked as funny as she did with her face scrunched up in anger.

Smirking, he did not see the message until the phone vibrated in his hand.

_**You are going. It wasn't easy getting reservations at this place. Don't be late and embarrass me. **_

His reply was immediate, as though he had been thinking about it for a while.

_**id rather go with u**_

When the blinking dots disappeared, he quickly wrote back, covering his tracks when he realized what he'd done.

_**then i could embarrass u easier haha**_

The dots did not reappear.

He waited for a minute, staring at the screen, but nothing more happened. He turned the screen off, inexplicably nervous, and sat up, tugging at the tuft of unruly hair over his forehead. With a sigh, he pulled the black pinstriped shirt towards and yanked it on, smoothing the wrinkles in the cuffs. He ruffled his hair, carefully teasing it into the right look though he became unhappier with each attempt. After twenty minutes of this, he gave up, buttoning the collar of his shirt and pulling on his jacket. He checked his reflection in the mirror, studying every inch of his scowling face with resentment.

This was insane.

This was stupid.

This was not fair.

He repeated the mantra to himself as he gathered his wallet and keys, slipping his phone into his pocket. _Insane, stupid, unfair. Insane, stupid, unfair. Insane, stupid, unfair. _What the hell was he even doing? He punched the button for the lobby in the elevator of his building, then leaned against the wall, eyes shut tight. His heart was racing, mouth dry, and he pressed his hands to his temples, trying to even his quick breathing. The doors opened, but he did not move, feeling his chest constrict, paralyzing every muscle in an incredible panic.

This wasn't him. He was better, stronger, braver. He knew himself, and this was not who he was.

But he thought he knew her, too, and where did that get him?

He jumped when his pocket vibrated, fingers fumbling to retrieve the mobile.

_**Get out of the elevator.**_

He laughed shakily, casting a clammy hand over his face.

_Right_, he told himself, assuming a determined and confident presence. _Right_.

The walk to the restaurant took less time than he anticipated, even as he kept a slow pace. The establishment was on the highest floor of a large downtown commercial building, and the trip to the top was already enough to make his wallet begin quivering with an entirely different kind of fear. He was immensely relieved to be the first one there, allowing the hostess to take his coat and seat him at a corner table by windows that overlooked a cityscape dipped in twilight. The view was remarkable, and he regretted waiting so long to sample the eatery with such a promising locale. Making a mental note to tell Hikari about it, he accepted the glass of ice water the waiter served and politely declined further assistance. Without taking a sip, he set the glass down, staring at the intricately laid tableware and wondering if he should have taken the time to iron out his shirt after all.

Just as he contemplated another attempt to bolt for the nearest exit and cancel the evening altogether, a loud crash from the kitchens tore him from his thoughts. His fellow diners were peering curiously towards the doors behind the bar at the far left of the room, and he craned his neck. Shouting echoed furiously through the rooms, and a minute later, a man with a thin goatee and horn-rimmed glasses burst through the kitchen doors, shouting curse words. The hostess came rushing forward, alarmed, while another well-dressed elderly gentleman appeared to sternly admonish the screaming chef. The man ignored them all, whipping his hat from his head and hurling both it and his soaking apron into the air. In a flurry of frantic movements, he was escorted out of the restaurant by several other waiters, while the hostess, her face pink in embarrassment, rushed off into the kitchen with the other gentleman.

Silence filled the dining room as the patrons looked around at each other, unnerved. But Taichi, having never expected to witness such a scene at a place as fancy as this, felt the tense knot of his stomach come undone. Whatever the night had in store for him, he thought, it couldn't be as bad as that. This was a good sign. He paused, _Wasn't it?_

"Mr. Yagami?"

He choked. "Oh, God—_where_?" His gaze snapped around the room, searching for his father in horror, but instead settled on an absolute vision of a woman before him. Her soft blonde hair had been pulled up in the kind of loose-fitting up-do that growing up with a younger sister had taught him was deceptively casual. Somehow, the thought that she had spent time on her appearance just for a simple dinner flattered him, and he grinned at her, kicking out his chair as he stood. "You can just call me Taichi," he said.

Her pale pink lips pulled into a generous smile, "Then please, call me Catherine."

He hastily pulled her chair back, letting her settle in at the table comfortably, then returned to his own seat, determined not to fumble in front of her.

"Oh, what a lovely view," she said, leaning into the glass with admiration.

He didn't consider his view half so bad either. She wore a beige knee-length sleeveless dress, paired with an off-white short jacket that matched her nude pumps. The entire ensemble seemed to make her glow ethereally, and he was mesmerized, the nervous turning of his stomach becoming that much easier to ignore in the calmness of her companionship.

Their email exchanges and phone conversations had been brief since he initiated them after a bit of prodding from well-meaning—though insatiably curious—friends, though Takeru seemed to read far more into her responses than Taichi ever could. The young blond had accused him of being horrifically obtuse, pointing out each turn of phrase or cleverly placed emoticon as a blatant invitation. Taichi did not quite see it that way, remembering the exchanges as polite though affectionate, even if he felt self-conscious enough to keep his sense of joking humor to a minimum whenever he wrote or called her. He wasn't sure what was holding him back.

Daisuke said it was nerves, peppering him with the kind of locker room talk that Taichi suspected the man had been recycling for dates of his own, with varying degrees of success, for years.

Sora said it was not unexpected, given the situation, which only reminded Taichi of the situation and put him in a worse mood, until Sora told him he was looking for excuses and she wasn't going to give them to him.

Koushiro said it was natural, advising him to slowly ease into the open communication he had been used to with a partner and reminding him that it always took time to get into sync with another person.

Yamato said it was nothing to worry about, to which Taichi had retorted he wasn't worried, to which Yamato had rolled his eyes and prompted another harmless squabble, which seemed to do the trick and distract Taichi long enough to forget he really was worried.

And Mimi—well, she had successfully kept her thoughts about all of it to herself, a feat no less remarkable for how much opining she usually did about every topic presented to her. He wasn't sure why that bothered him, too.

He found himself inadvertently frowning then, and this time Catherine saw it. She lowered her fork to her plate and arched a perfect eyebrow, concerned. "Do you not like your appetizer?"

He glanced down at the untouched salad, seasoned simply with toasted almonds and brie crumbles. His stomach growled on instinct, and he winced at the sound, scratching his head with another apologetic grin. "Ah, it's nothing. I mean, it's fine."

Something flashed in her blue eyes, and she looked away, pert nose wrinkling slightly, and he realized she might be taking his uninspired conversation as a reflection on herself.

"They told me not to tell you," he blurted out in what, in hindsight, was a rather poor attempt at making her feel better.

Catherine regarded him with wide and slightly fearful eyes. "Well, that's ominous."

He gave a panicked laugh, which he quickly quelled, uncomfortable. "I mean, some people said to tell you, some said not to, and I am still trying to figure out if I should."

"You are under no obligation to tell me all your secrets, Taichi." She crossed her legs, pulling the skirt over the top of a pale knee.

"It's not a secret," he said at once, disliking the idea that he should hide the truth. "It's just...I don't want people to think differently about me."

She rested a slender elbow on the table, propping her chin in her palm. "Well, I like how I think about you now."

He grinned, amused, leaning forward. "Let's just say I'm not sure you would have agreed to dinner if you knew."

"That does add a layer of intriguing mystery." Sparkling blue eyes narrowed slightly, glinting. "I should tell you, though, I rather like being able to decide for myself what is good for me. I think I deserve that much at least."

The waiter returned then with their entrees, and the conversation hit a pause as the plates were cleared and the main courses delivered. Catherine did not touch hers yet, hands folded in her lap, and Taichi leaned back, nervously rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip as he hesitated. But she was not looking at him with the kind of reserved expectation that he had envisioned. Her smile was genuine, and her demeanor inviting. So he told her.

"This is my first date in four years." He paused, remembering, "Actually, it's my first _first_ date in four years."

"I see." She smiled, "Well, I am honored."

The grin returned, and he ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly more relaxed when she winked at him.

But then her next question made his muscles seize up, the lump growing in his throat.

"What's her name?"

He started to tell her, but then stopped himself and closed his mouth, lips making a thin line. "It doesn't matter."

"I think she matters."

"What happened matters," he corrected.

She picked up on the hardness in his voice and sat back in her chair. "We don't have to talk about what happened," she said simply, taking a small sip of her water. She set the glass down on the table and smoothed the napkin in her lap.

He regretted his tone when he saw how she avoided his gaze, focusing her attention on the meal, though the unexpected turn of conversation still bothered him. But he did not like to make anyone uncomfortable, and so he joked to lighten the mood, "Anyway, if you want to end the night early and bolt, I won't blame you. I just would rather you understand where I am right now. I don't want to give you the wrong impression."

To his surprise, she raised her chin and flashed him a wry smile of her own. "Isn't it a bit early for the 'it's not you, it's me' speech?"

He opened his mouth to protest the meaning, then stopped, feeling his cheeks warm in a dark blush. "Is that what I'm doing?" he asked, marveling at the idea with vague despair.

"A little bit," she admitted with a laugh.

He winced, face in his hand. "I told you, it's been a really long time. I'm not that great at this kind of stuff. I didn't think I'd have to do it again." He bit his tongue gently at the last comment, not intending to admit such a thing, no matter how true.

But Catherine did not seem to notice. She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Would you like to start over?"

"Start over?" he repeated, confused, peaking out between his fingers.

She held out her hand, straightening in her chair with a professional pose, chin raised. He took her palm in his, fingers brushing over the soft skin.

"Hello, Taichi. My name is Catherine. I'd like to be your friend. Would you like to be mine?"

His chuckle was low, and he cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"I thought you might," she winked, releasing his hand. He was surprised by the lingering way her touch seemed to infuse with his own, and he wished he had held on longer. He quickly retracted his arm, curling his fingers together.

"Really?" he said, smirking back.

"Oh, I think we will become very good friends."

Her confidence was intoxicating, so unlike the way he had arrived here that night. The reservations he had about her were starting to shift, and he did not know how to press forward, however more comfortable he now was. He suspected she was doing this all on purpose, but he also suspected he liked it.

They continued their dinner, moving into the dessert and sharing a crème brûlée tart that Taichi didn't think tasted as good as Mimi's. He told Catherine as much, and she dismissed the claim, which somehow turned into him promising her a chance to taste the caterer's version so she could apologize for such a poor taste in dessert preferences. Catherine insisted it would never happen, and Taichi found himself accepting the challenge, determined to prove he was right, before he even realized he had just agreed to a second date, startling himself so effectively that he almost left his jacket with the coat check girl. He scrambled back after it, leaving Catherine waiting in the elevator lobby, then was struck with an idea. It was several moments later that he emerged from the restaurant and met her at the lift, grinning and holding a takeout box, refusing to let her peek inside. She tried to grab for it, protesting, insisting that she be allowed to keep a portion of the delicious take-out if he got to as well, but he waved her off, telling her she would just have to be patient.

Still holding onto the takeout box, he waited until the taxi she had called turned the corner before making his own way to the one place he felt most himself.

Daisuke was sitting at the front desk, fuming under his breath, striking the keyboard at the work computer with stubby fingers. He did not look up with Taichi let himself inside the shop, ignoring the sign hung on the door announcing the premises as closed for business. He set the takeout box on the desk, then fell with a loud, exhausted sigh onto a chair by the desk. Daisuke ignored him completely, and he cleared his throat again.

"Stop making that noise, I'm trying to work," grumbled the younger man, scowling at the monitor.

Taichi was amused. "Another losing battle with technology?"

"It's this stupid reservation system," complained Daisuke, pointedly not denying that the problem might actually be with his ability—or lack thereof—to use said system.

"Want me to take a look?"

"Clients aren't supposed to use the computer."

"I thought I wasn't a client anymore."

"Right now, you're as annoying as one," he snapped, distracted. "Shouldn't you be out on your hot date?"

Taichi gestured to the takeout box. "Just ended."

"Oh," said Daisuke. He pulled his gaze from the computer at last, surveying the to-go bag and then glancing at Taichi, his face crumbling into awkward sympathy. "Sorry."

Taichi's eyes widened. "About what?" he barked, offended. "Just because it ended early doesn't mean anything."

His friend was grinning slyly, wiggling inquisitive eyebrows. "So you're gonna see her again?"

"Who's gonna see who again?"

Taichi sat up at once, catching her gaze as she emerged from the bakery kitchen at the back of the store. Her arms raised, she was pulling apart the braids in her ponytail, running fingers through the tresses as they fell down her shoulders. Her posture was slouched, exhausted, as she undid the knots of her apron and pulled it from her small waist, rolling up the cloth with a sigh.

"Yagami's gonna see Catherine again," announced Daisuke with a self-righteous grin.

Taichi thought he noticed the almost imperceptible pause in her movements as she continued combing out her hair, but then she was smiling at him gently, and he figured it was his imagination.

"It went well?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Daisuke interrupted when he opened his mouth to respond. He flew around the front table and dragged a chair closer to Taichi, knocking knees with him, then leaned forward with his chin in his palms, eyes wide open like a gossip-hungry schoolgirl. "Tell us everything. Start from the beginning."

Taichi rolled his eyes, noting how readily he had abandoned his work in favor of living vicariously through a more interesting, and technologically-free, life. "Should I braid your hair, too?"

The man clicked his tongue, waving the teasing aside and gesturing for him to continue his story. Mimi took up Daisuke's work at the computer, and Taichi glanced at her, expecting her to likewise deride Daisuke's curiosity. But she did not say another word, training her unblinking gaze onto the screen.

He shrugged, "I told her the truth, and she said it was fine just being friends."

Daisuke's face fell, gravely disappointed. "You're shitting me," he sputtered, throwing up his hands in defeat. "You actually just want to be friends with a woman like that?" Shaking his head mournfully, he pointed at the takeout bag. "That's where you went wrong. Never take food home from the restaurant. Classy broads don't sleep with misers."

Taichi neglected to correct the crudely-worded assumption, his gaze drawing back to Mimi as she hunched over the keyboard. "The restaurant was a good choice," he said suddenly, hoping to get her attention.

"Was it?" she murmured, half-listening.

"Except for the dessert. Their crème brûlée couldn't hold a candle to yours."

She dismissed the compliment easily, ignoring the tender way he said it. "That's ridiculous. They're the top dessert place in town."

"I don't know," said Daisuke, leaning back in his chair and yawning. "You're pretty good, Mimi."

"I couldn't live without your approval, Daisuke."

"Ah, such power," he mused happily, closing his eyes.

"Well, anyway, I've got a bet with Catherine that yours is better, so that's their version," Taichi nodded at the bag, smiling at her, "and we just need one of yours."

She stopped, falling suddenly still, breath caught tightly in her chest.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Taichi stood and dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled business card. Smoothing the wrinkles flat on top of the counter, he slid it to her, unaware of what his words had done. "About the restaurant, I happen to know the owner there is interested in new talent."

"How would you know that?" demanded Daisuke doubtfully, arms crossed behind his head.

Taichi grinned at the memory, guiltily still enjoying it. "There was this big fuss just as I got there. All this racket from the kitchens—and then this guy just walked out, throwing his apron on the floor. You don't make a scene like that if you've just been promoted."

Daisuke looked impressed, though Taichi wondered if it was with his ability to discern a situation as a casual spectator, or the fired cook's dramatic exit. The younger man called over his shoulder, "Sounds like there might be something there, Mimi."

She picked up the card mechanically, limbs stiff, though she did not understand why. She stared at the printed letters, mind blank. "You got his card?"

"You got me out of the elevator," he said. "I think I owe you. You'd better call him. I told him about you, so he's expecting it."

Her heart leapt unexpectedly into her throat, and she swallowed the hard lump. "You did?"

"Yeah, when I went back to tell him about my bet over your crème brûlée. Besides," Taichi shrugged, "as I recall, 'friends don't ruin each other's chances to become friends with someone better.' I figured the rule applies to potential career advancements, too."

Daisuke was practically preening, delighted that his sage wisdom was finally being implemented by others. He crowed, "I should write a book."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Motomiya."

Mimi tuned out the rest of their banter, fingers closing around the card in disbelief. For years she had been wondering about the possibility of meeting a chef at a Red Guide restaurant, becoming an apprentice, learning from the greats. She had never had the courage to follow through, and so often doubted her abilities to even be worthy of that kind of specialized training. She didn't even know if she would be any good in a restaurant setting; it was so different than the catering business.

And then, suddenly, she was holding this card, this chance, in her hands.

Because of him.

"Thank you," she stammered finally, head still bowed. The pair immediately stopped exchanging quips, glancing at her. Her face was inexplicably warm under his brown-eyed gaze. "Thank you for thinking of me."

Taichi stared at her in surprise, stunned by the way her voice seemed to quiver as she spoke, hazel eyes looking anywhere but him. He started to tell her it was just a business card, but was rudely interrupted by a loud puff of suddenly realized anger.

The maroon-haired man frowned deeply at him, pouting. "What about thinking of me? I could use a mentor. Why didn't you find me one, too?"

"I am not a miracle worker, Daisuke."


	9. I Caught You Burning Photographs

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

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**Author's Note**: Holy moly, this is super long. The previous chapter wrapped up the first verse of song that this story follows, and this chapter will mark the beginning of the second verse. It loosely fits a "Part One," a "Part Two," and a "Part Three" format. As such, I had to pack in a lot in this chapter that did not fit into the outlines I have for the remaining chapters. I tried, but it was most important to get the ball rolling with "Part Two" (which is admittedly pretty heavy; so be forewarned), so that's why it's unusually long. Please bear with me; it will all be over soon, and I promise I do have a plan. Thanks for reading.

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_I caught you burning photographs_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

If things had worked out properly, her birthday would have fallen on a national holiday. Indeed, had the government any sense, they would ascribed it such a status by now.

But, if she were honest, Mimi would have to admit that she did not particularly like the idea of sharing her day with a nation; even in grade school, she had resented deeply the handful of children who had deigned to be born in the same month. This was _her_ time, _her_ special occasion.

Luckily, the people in her life recognized this, or at least they knew her well enough to go as over the top as she did, following her cue.

This year, as she did on all the years, she stayed up until midnight, and at the stroke of the clock, her parents called and sung her the same birthday song her father had made up when she was still a toddler. It was a tradition that Mimi in no way felt she would ever be too old to enjoy, and she cooed and giggled throughout the off-key rendition, eagerly soaking up their well wishes and promising to visit soon.

Giddy from that, she accepted her traditional midnight birthday cupcake and its lone, flickering candle from a groggy and barely conscious Jyou, who had enough self-control to stay alert and focused until just after she blew out the flame, upon which he promptly passed out with a loud snore.

Ruffling his short hair affectionately as he succumbed to the effects of another exhausting long call at the hospital, she proceeded to happily stuff the cupcake into her mouth and open her laptop. She logged into her email to see who had sent an e-card and who she would have to burn for forgetting—then spat out a mouthful of vanilla buttercream frosting when she clicked on the attachment from Daisuke's email, the first of the greetings.

The accompanying picture was a gigantic, high-definition spread of a beautifully chiseled naked male model, lathered up in suntan oil and animated to wiggle his perky, sculpted bottom while tossing sultry glances at the camera. Daisuke's birthday message scrolled along the bottom: _**A preview of coming attractions? Stay tuned for tonight and find out! **_

Mortified, her face a dark scarlet, Mimi quickly closed the window, casting a nervous glance at her boyfriend. Jyou was blissfully unaware as he sprawled out under the covers of the bed beside her, but she didn't take the risk. She decided to save the rest of the birthday emails—noting happily how her inbox was growing; her friends knew the routine by now—for the morning.

That night, she dreamt that a parade of naked models marched through her catering shop as a well-dressed restaurateur shouted at her to pay attention to the assembly line of crème brûlée tarts that sped by, moving too fast for her to torch the letters _**id rather go with u**_ into glazed sugar that finally melted together into the shape of smirking dark brown eyes. She awoke with a start, skin burning with something like pleasure that quickly washed away in guilt, and she sat up, chastising herself for being so shaken by a meaningless series of more meaningless images.

Jyou had already awoken, an early riser if there ever were one. He had taken the time to make up his side of the bed, placing a vase full of strikingly white calla lilies on her nightstand with the collection of birthday cards amassed from the morning mail. He had also cleaned up the remnants of her midnight birthday cupcake, leaving in its place a trail of sticky Post-it notes that bore his poor attempts at drawing smiley faces and other oblong shapes that she suspected were supposed to be hearts. The notes covered the wall, leading her from the bed to the kitchen, where he had ordered a takeout breakfast from her favorite corner bakery. Smiling, she nibbled on an almond croissant as she read the note he had tucked under her coffee mug, explaining his list of errands for the day. He reminded her gently to fetch the last of the decorations from Daisuke's flat, promising to pick up her dress from the dry cleaners himself when he returned that afternoon.

Mimi finished her breakfast quickly, then showered and selected the first of her birthday outfits for the day, twisting her hair into a loose ponytail before gathering her supplies. She phoned Daisuke ahead of time as only a courtesy; usually, she let herself into his place uninvited and unannounced, having secured a copy of his key after the fourth time he locked himself out in as many weeks and she realized he was a hopeless mess without adult supervision.

There was a click on the other line and then she nearly dropped her phone when two terribly out of synch and out of pitch voices began serenading her with two completely different versions of a birthday song. She hung up on them to save her ears, massaging her temples as she stepped into the elevator in his building.

The door was already open when she arrived, and she had the briefest glimpse of blurred bodies leaping towards her before she was overcome by cologne and aftershave and testosterone, collapsing onto the floor of Daisuke's studio apartment and trapped under their combined weights. The breath was knocked from her chest, and her heart was rattling in her throat, and she found herself sinking beneath their ferocious embrace, planted facedown with Daisuke's knee rammed into her thigh and Taichi's elbow digging into her spine.

"_Get—off—now_," she gasped into someone's armpit, or attempted to, but her face was squashed into a mess of skin and hair and clothes, and there was nothing she could do about it. She lay sprawled, trapped, as they both began talking to her at the same time.

"Did you like my email?" crowed Daisuke, his arms wrapped around the top of her head and squeezing affectionately. "I've been saving that one since last year! Koushiro helped me with the editing; you should have seen his face when we were making the gif image of the guy's butt." He trailed off, cackling, the rumbling mirth ringing deep in his chest.

"Birthday pancake hugs are the best," mumbled Taichi meanwhile, his face in her fair, laughing. "I used to do this to my sister until she learned how to kick." His breath was tickling her ear, and she shivered, fragments of her dream hurtling forth unbidden from the back of her mind.

Anxious to escape his touch, her thoughts latched on the last words he spoke like a tonic. _Kick, woman, kick_, she told herself and started scrambling. She flailed any part of her she could still feel, wiggling her body like a codfish out of water, until Taichi finally struggled to his feet, extracting himself from the tangled heap of awkward limbs and yanking Daisuke off of her.

Free at last, she lay flat on the floor, breath shuddering back into lungs that felt like silly putty. With an amused snort, Taichi gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the couch that also acted as Daisuke's bed. He set her down gently on the cushions, leaning close to her and bopping his thumb on a pert nose as red as a ripe tomato. "Happy birthday, kid."

"I'm not a kid," she stammered awkwardly, nose burning, desperately trying not to look into his eyes.

Daisuke laughed. "Yeah, we know. You're old as fuck now."

The churning of her stomach hardened and she glared at him, shaking an angry finger. "Don't ever send me pictures like that again."

He put his hands on the waistband of his pants. "What, you want the real thing already, Mimi? Jeez, learn to control yourself, will you?"

Taichi steered him away from her eyeline, recognizing the murderous glint in her hazel orbs and intervening at once. "All right, let's finish these decorations, shall we?"

They set about the tasks, Mimi barking out orders until her back stopped feeling so sore and she silently forgave them for their stunt. Daisuke undid the knots in the Christmas lights she wanted to loop around the walls of the gallery that night, and Taichi cut out the paper stars she was planning on affixing to the bulbs for an ethereal touch. Their work was consistently interrupted, attention spans too short not to descend into squabbles or cravings for snacks, until it became clear that the constant work was wearing on their tired selves. Mimi tried to keep a note of the time throughout this, pestering the pair to hurry up, nagging that only served to remind Daisuke that he was actually quite annoyed by the fancy theme.

The venue Koushiro recommended was modestly elegant, so Mimi had decided to make it a cocktail party. When he heard, Daisuke had accused her of conspiratorially plotting to ensure he was more clothed than normal by requiring black tie attire, taking offense to the fact that she didn't seem to trust his promise to her. She did not want to turn it into a sort of challenge, knowing that his spicy temperament would never allow him to pass up such a contest.

So when he grumblingly brought it up again as they sat on the floor untangling twinkling lights, she distracted him by asking if he remembered to pick up her cake from their shop's bakery, which did the trick. His face blanched and his eyes bugged, and suddenly he was scrambling for the door with clammy palms and rambling off excuses, yelling to help themselves to whatever was needed around his apartment in his assuredly short absence.

Pleased with both herself and how easy he was, Mimi spread the lights in front of her and started taping the paper stars together. From his position on the couch behind her, Taichi dumped another stack of crudely cut templates onto her lap, flexing his sore fingers as he yawned sleepily.

She exclaimed over the jagged lines. "These are terrible, Taichi."

"They'll all look the same once you hang them up," he said, lying back on the ratty old couch. Its cushions were torn and stained, and Taichi tried not to think about what the cause of the marks were as he stretched his legs out over them.

"You can't fold them properly when they're so uneven," she protested in dismay, frowning at each funnily-shaped star.

"Use the tape."

"You said you were going to help me—,"

"I am helping—,"

"With this?" She waved a star that better resembled a pudgy triangle with vague aspirations of one day sprouting into a rhombus. "What is this even supposed to be?"

Taichi groaned and sank lower into the lumpy cushions, laying a forearm over his closed eyes. "I need a break. My hands hurt, my head hurts, and you're being mean to me."

Mimi paused, craning her neck to glance upwards at him, criticism evaporating. Both Taichi and Koushiro had only had time for one lunch at the catering shop that week, citing a massive deadline at work that had meant longer hours and difficult projects. The day they had come in, Mimi noticed right away the exhausted lines etched into his face, complaining of an onset of headaches as he adjusted to less sleep and more stress.

Her voice was soft. "Do you want some water?"

He mumbled in the affirmative, turning over on his side, face buried into the back of the couch. Mimi set aside her work and pulled herself to her feet, trotting across the apartment to the small kitchenette by the windows.

In spite of the absolute mess that was the rest of Daisuke's tiny studio apartment, his even tinier kitchen was impeccable. With a clean and polished stovetop, neatly arranged cookware, and cabinets overflowing with treasured appliances, each section of the cramped space revealed where the young man's heart truly lay, and it made Mimi smile as her hands ran over the little shrine that was Daisuke's kitchen.

She filled a glass with water, retrieving the little bottle of painkillers her friend always kept near his alcohol stash, and retraced her steps to the couch, hesitating when she saw how still he was. "You're not dead, are you?"

"Not yet," he mumbled into the cushions.

"Got you some medicine." She shook the pill bottle at him, then immediately regretted it when he winced and clasped a hand over his ears to block out the rattling. Cursing her lack of consideration, she dropped to her knees in front of the sofa again, opening the childproof cap and coaxing two capsules out onto her palm. "Come on," she told him, resting the hand cupping the pills on his shoulder rather than poke at him the way she would have otherwise. "You'll feel better if you take something."

Taichi rolled over on his back with a grumbling sigh. She handed him the capsules first, then the glass of water, which he tried to return to her after only a small sip. "No," she said stubbornly, a bit more like her mother than she cared to accept. "Drink it all."

He did as he was told. She took the empty glass and recapped pill bottle and set it down on the floor, returning her worried expression to him. He did not notice, laying with his head propped on the arm of the couch, forearm pressed to his forehead, and dark brown eyes closed.

She crossed her arms on the cushion and studied him. "Why'd you come if you weren't feeling well?"

"Don't worry," he said, seeing right through her. "I'll be there tonight."

"That's not what I meant," she protested at once, cheeks pink. "And I don't want you there if you're just going to be sick everywhere."

"What, and miss Daisuke put on a show if I get him drunk enough?"

"You will do no such thing."

"Besides, I know you want me there. You've seen how well I fill out a suit," he reminisced, smirking. "Or maybe I do it so well, you don't want me around, just in case I'm the one who steals your thunder this time."

"The real miracle would be how you'll fit that ego into the room."

"Well, considering my head feels like it's gonna explode anyway, I suspect it won't be that hard when the time comes." He rubbed his forehead, sucking in his breath.

Her voice softened, and she leaned into him. "Is it just a headache? Do you have a fever?" She pulled herself up on the couch, scooting into the small space beside his hip, and bent over to press the back of her hand on his forehead, nudging his arm aside. Her touch was cool and gentle, tracing the wrinkles of his brow. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the feather-light touch of her fingers on his skin more than he would ever admit to himself. "You don't seem warm," she murmured, brushing his thick bangs aside.

"I'm not. It's just work. These hours are killing me, and I couldn't sleep well last night."

"If you're that tired, maybe you should take it easy today," she hesitated, "and tonight."

"You're as bad a liar as me," he joked, smiling, peeking out at her between his fingers. "Besides, I've still got my tux, and you're going to melt when you see how adorable I am in a bowtie."

She snorted, covering her face with one hand so she could keep the other lingering casually against his cheek. "A bowtie?"

"Yeah, Daisuke said it would be snazzy, so we both got some."

An alarming image of Daisuke careening about the velvet-draped gallery in a Chippendale uniform, shrieking that he was still following the black-tie instructions as she furiously chased after him, hit her in the mental eye, and she flinched, hand forming a fist against the side of Taichi's face. He ducked on instinct, eyebrow raised, and she drew her arms back, frowning at him.

"It's just the bow-tie, is it?"

"And the tux," he reminded, laughing as though he knew exactly what vision was traumatizing her right now, too. "Daisuke was right; you do have a dirty mind." He paused, "Although, it does make you wonder, with all this talk."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you implying?"

"He does seem to get naked an awful lot around you. Are you sure he and you aren't…?" He cut himself off, waggling his eyebrows.

Her cheeks glowed a bright pink. "Don't be ridiculous."

"What, not even once?"

"I have a boyfriend, you know—,"

He craned his neck, imitating a frantic search of the room. "Yeah, and where is he, by the way? Shouldn't he be helping you with your party?"

"He is," she insisted, annoyed that she felt so defensive. She wanted to slip back down to the floor, move away from him, but her legs were frozen where she sat, her back cradled against his on the couch. She added, "He's down at the venue, and then he's going to the dry cleaner's to get my dress."

"Got a picture?"

Mimi never turned down the opportunity to show off a new outfit, and she leaned back to fish her mobile from the back pocket of her jeans. Doing so meant her elbow brushed against his stomach, and she did not move it once her phone was in her hand. Instead, she casually leaned against him, twisting her body so her forearms rested on his chest, determinedly assuming an expression of nonchalance and control. She found the picture of the dress in her recent photos, the one she had taken when it was still on its hanger.

Taichi whistled lowly as he took the phone for a closer look. "Well, I'm certainly not missing seeing you in that."

Her lips pursed together, bemused. "After lecturing me about Daisuke, I'm not so sure it's appropriate for you to be making known how you'd like to see me."

He shifted his balance so that she sank even lower into him, and she did not pull away. He smirked, "Ah, but see, unlike the real reason he likes running naked during your parties, I have no problem with people knowing I think you're beautiful."

Her eyes narrowed, chin propped up in her palm. "Mm-hm. I bet you say that to all the girls."

He shrugged and handed the phone back to her, lopsided grin spreading across his face. But this time his voice was softer, like a secret. "You know I do."

The door opened, and Taichi immediately sat up, while she slid into the empty space his legs left behind as he swung himself around.

Carrying a large pink bakery box under his arm, Daisuke stopped when he saw them and narrowed his eyes with deep suspicion. "I see how it is," he said slowly.

Taichi brushed him off easily, but Mimi thought his chuckle sounded nervous, and she hid her own anxiousness with a wrinkling frown.

She started to explain, "We were just—,"

"I know what you were doing," Daisuke barked, kicking the door closed behind him. He shifted the packages in his arms and thrust an angry elbow towards the star cut-outs and stringed lights on the floor. He mimicked Mimi's voice perfectly, "'Get the cake, get the decorations, get the tuxes.' Honestly, you two think you can make me do all the work, don't you?"

Mimi sank into the cushions, rolling her eyes. "You're quite the martyr when you want to be, aren't you?"

"I'm not doing everything by myself," he sniffed irritably.

"Ah, but you do it so much better than we could." Taichi stood then, taking a moment to press his hands to the side of his temple briefly. Mimi saw the gesture with concern, but what she noticed most was the way he wouldn't look at her now. "Anyway, I've got something I need to do before the birthday party to end all birthday parties. I'll see you guys tonight."

Daisuke protested after him, "_Oi_, I was just joking about leaving me with all the work, but now you really are!"

But Taichi was unmoved, sauntering towards the door with his hands in his pockets and that easy laugh that always seemed to confuse her these days. "Sorry, Daisuke, but if there's one thing I have learned in my short life, it's to not keep a woman waiting." He waved goodbye with a casual air, cutting off the younger man's sputtering retort, and slipped out of the apartment all too quickly.

Mimi did not realize she was still staring after him until Daisuke had already delivered the cake to the fridge, washed his hands, and settled himself at her feet to continue working on taping the paper stars together. He nudged her knee with his shoulder, reminding her of the time. She pulled herself out of uncomfortable thoughts, putting on her best apologetic smile and helping him with the last of the lights.

After wrapping up with a late birthday lunch, cooked by Daisuke himself—though Mimi insisted she expected a better present than just a homemade meal, no matter how delicious it was—she dropped off the last of the completed decorations with the venue owner, then returned home only a few minutes after Jyou, who met her, beaming, with a freshly laundered dress, still zipped up in its garment bag. Distracted by the excitement, she shooed him out of the bedroom and spent as long as possible getting ready, obsessing over each tendril of hair and each crease of her dress.

"Mimi, we need to get going," Jyou called in the middle of her last run of her curling iron. "You don't want to be late to your own party, do you?"

"A princess is never late!"

His laugh relaxed her, easing a tension that had been building in her chest. Knowing she liked her grand entrances, he stepped back patiently. There was some rustling behind the door before it finally opened, and when it did, his smile slipped.

She chewed her lip nervously, glancing down. "You don't like it?"

"Are you joking?" he gasped, flustered. "You look—," and he stopped, unable to find the right word.

Her strapless tea-length gown was deceptively simply in its bodice cut, pooling into ruffles of dark red satin from a delicate waist. She had curled her light brown hair and pinned the long tresses away from her face with clips lined in miniature pearls. Matching studs lined the ear cuffs she wore, and it was to these that her jewelry was limited. She had colored her cheeks with a light rouge, darkened her full lips with a deep red that somehow made the hazel of her eyes turn the color of gold.

She shifted her balance on dark red heels, hands clasped behind her back, inexplicably shy. "Well?"

Jyou ran a hand through his short hair, nervously fingering his glasses. "Suddenly, my suit looks really bland."

Her laugh was soft and relaxed, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek, coming up on tiptoes to reach his height even with the added inches her shoes gave her. He had called them a taxi, which met them outside the apartment complex, its driver neglecting to complain about how long he had been kept waiting when he caught sight of her. Jyou noticed this as well, placing his hand over Mimi's on her lap throughout the ride, meeting the man's eager gaze each time it lingered on the rear-view mirror. Mimi was not aware of any this, blissful in the moment as she always seemed to be, though he thought there was an anxiousness to her posture that he did not recognize. She brushed it off many times, or attempted to, but just as he started to ask her if she was feeling all right, they arrived.

The converted theater was familiar to Mimi, who had used it as a venue for previous catering events, including Koushiro's parents' party. It was the latter who met them outside the door, waving affectionately when Mimi emerged from the back of the cab. Beside him was a tall blond man with brilliant blue eyes, and Mimi thought he looked familiar but couldn't quite place him. It was after Jyou exclaimed excitedly when he saw Yamato that Mimi recognized him at last, and Jyou bent to murmur in her ear, "I hope you don't mind that I invited him to come. He's been a bit lonely."

This piqued her curiosity, and of course she didn't mind, especially after Yamato brandished a wrapped present with a bright pink bow. She accepted it a bit too eagerly, making all of them laugh, and she accompanied them into the smaller gallery at the rear of the theater. She paused for a moment at the entrance, breathless, amazed at how well the venue had turned out. The stringed star lights were wrapped around the velvet curtain rods all around the room, a full-service bar tucked into the corner where floor-to-ceiling windows opened into an enclosed outdoor space. Music played softly from the speakers affixed to each corner, and already the gallery was filling with friends and acquaintances. Her eyes drew to the vases of calla lilies arranged throughout the space, and she grinned at her boyfriend, "Everything's beyond perfect, but the flowers—they're so amazing! Did you put up the lilies here, too?"

But Jyou shook his head, "Actually, those came delivered, and so were the ones this morning. I got you something else, though," he offered a little shyly, shuffling his feet.

Mimi closed her mouth, cursing herself for putting him on the spot, and she locked arms with his. "And I'll love it. But you know the rule; presents after the cake." She looked around, curious. "Speaking of which…."

"The cake's here but he's not," said another voice. Her former neighbor approached them, dressed up in a flattering purple gown, her hand perched on her hip exasperatedly. "I suppose this year's disaster is coming delayed."

"Miyako!" Mimi threw her arms around her friend's neck, hugging tightly. "You came!"

"Of course, I came!" said the younger woman, smiling prettily at her. When she warmly embraced Jyou as well, Inoue Miyako muttered under her breath, "I know better than to be late to a Mimi party."

Jyou swallowed his chuckle before his girlfriend could notice, gesturing to the bar. "Would the birthday girl like to do the honors?"

"I have been waiting for this all year," she said with a flourish.

Placing Yamato's present carefully on the table with the cake, she led the way to the bar. The bartender opened a large bottle of champagne, pouring stems for each of them, which they drank after a toast to an increasingly giddy Mimi. She slurped hers quickly, drawing an eyebrow raise from Jyou and Miyako, but her eyes were focused on the doors across from the bar. It opened to reveal a group of women from her spin class, and Mimi smiled back, hiding her disappointment. She turned her back to the door, loudly calling for another round of champagne, waving away Jyou's suggestion that she maintain something like a pace to last the night. She nursed her second glass with a little more restraint, begrudgingly accepting that he was right, and after her third glance at the entrance she spun around, determined not to look back again.

At that point, only Yamato remained with her at the bar; Jyou and Miyako had gone to settle an issue with the gallery owner, who had some concerns about the light decorations, and Koushiro had recognized an acquaintance in the crowd and excused himself. In the brief silence, Mimi stole a glance up at the blond. His face was relaxed and peaceful, though his eyes withdrawn. She nudged him with her elbow.

"You can't come here and be unhappy."

Yamato chuckled, shrugging, "I don't mean to be. It's just been a long week at work."

"Not the first time I've heard that today," she murmured. "Hopefully you'll have time to relax at the holidays."

"This is a nice warm-up," he said, gesturing to the party. "Thanks again for inviting me."

She paused, wondering how much she should toe the line, but she had always been a lightweight and the third glass of champagne in her hand was loosening her lips before she could even try helping herself. "Jyou says you're lonely."

His eyebrow arched, "I'm sorry?"

The alcohol sloshed a little as she pointed the glass towards her boyfriend across the room. "He said he asked you to come because you've been feeling lonely."

Blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Ah, the pity invite. Those are always—,"

"Hey," she poked him in the chest, startling him. "Friends look out for each other. That's what he was doing. It's not pity."

He shut his mouth, lips a thin line, and turned back to his drink, his forearms resting on the bar counter. Mimi stood next to him, gripping her glass. Her glance drifted back to the doors in his long silence, and she started to ask, "So how do you know Ta—?"

But he hadn't been listening. Hunched over the counter, he took a long sip of his champagne and rubbed the bridge of his nose anxiously. "I got out of a long relationship a few months ago, and I guess I'm still not handling it so well, which I didn't expect."

She paused, distracted by his confession. She leaned close, lowering her voice gently. "I don't think you're supposed to handle something like that well. It's hard for everyone."

"I don't think it's been hard for her," he said darkly, face turned away. But then, suddenly, his face was in his hands, and he slouched forward tiredly. "But I guess I didn't make things easy for her, either."

"I doubt that," she said affectionately, because she thought that was what she ought to say.

"I wasn't always fair to her. And I thought—I don't know. Sometimes, I think men want to be understood by someone, and women want someone to worship them," he said.

To his great surprise, Mimi burst into laughter. She shook her head. "I'd hate that, and so would most women," she paused, "and men, too. Don't get me wrong—adoration and commitment to my superior existence is wonderful, but I wouldn't want to be worshipped if that's all there is, if he's blind to who I really am. I'd rather be seen for me, for all of me." She grinned, "And _then_ worshipped."

Perhaps it was the slightly slurred sincerity in her voice, or the shining way her hazel eyes smiled at him, but Yamato relaxed into her as she patted his arm, deciding he liked this blunt and peculiar girl. "All of you's not half bad," he said slyly, amused.

She grinned, tossing her hair back. "I think I'm gonna start wearing this dress more often. The attention I'm getting…."

He chuckled, though it was still reserved, then cast a pale hand over blue eyes that still looked withdrawn as he returned to his drink.

She moved her hand to cover his fingers on the counter, squeezing affectionately. "These things take time, as hard as it is to hear that. But it will get better. Things always do." Then she added with a confident flourish, aided by the buzzing in her head from the champagne as she took another sip, "It's my birthday, anyhow, and I say it will, so it will."

In her enthusiasm, she took an awkward step back and her ankle twisted on the heel, her mouth forming a perfect circle in surprise. She collided with another person, tripping over the hem of her billowing skirts, grunting from the impact. She tilted her head back, heart skipping a nervous beat as strong hands wrapped around her waist to steady her, and found herself looking into a smiling, bespectacled face.

"Maybe we should switch you to some water for a little bit," said Jyou.

Mimi straightened herself, pushing back from him with a hand to his chest, confused by the discontent that flooded her blushing skin. "I'm fine. I just—_oh, no_."

Yamato's cool blue eyes widened ever so slightly, while Jyou blanched. Mimi glowered and slammed her champagne glass hard on the counter, slipping out of Jyou's grasp and marching towards the door. Dressed in tuxedo pants, a cummerbund, and nothing else, Daisuke puffed out his toned chest with his fists on narrow hips, standing like a superhero called to save an otherwise disastrously dull party, or at least that's what he imagined any gathering was without him. She reached out to poke an angry finger into his throat, but then stopped herself, eyes settling on the ridiculously sparkly purple bowtie tied into a perfect knot around his neck.

"You promised," she seethed, unable to keep her voice from shaking, though she was sure it was the alcohol fueling her now.

"Hey, I'm still following your instructions! Then Taichi called to tell me you rather liked the idea of me in a bowtie, how could I not fulfill your dreams?" He winked, "Just wait until he gets here; then you'll really—,"

She cut him off with a hiccup, mortified by a completely different image raking through her head, and Daisuke laughed, sweeping her up into his arms with a distracting hug.

There was a loud shout from behind them, where a crowd of partygoers had gathered to goggle at how creatively Daisuke chose to interpret Mimi's strict clothing rules. "What on earth are you wearing?" said Miyako after she pushed herself to the front, her voice shrill and strangled.

"Ah, there you are," said Daisuke, pulling back from Mimi with a cheeky grin. "I've been waiting for you."

Miyako began sputtering, though Mimi noted how red her bespectacled friend had become under their friend's mahogany gaze. When she took a frightened step back, Daisuke flexed his hands, advancing on her slowly. In the split second in which Miyako's eyes adjusted to his state of half-undress, he had launched himself at her and she shrieked, sprinting away, and Mimi was struck by the accuracy of the visions she'd had about this exact moment.

It was only when Daisuke did rush off that her eyes settled on the one other aspect of his attire that made her choke, clapping a hand over her mouth. Yamato was now struggling to keep his trademark cool composure as Koushiro ducked his head under an arm that shook with laughter.

Jyou frowned, "Daisuke, what's on your back?"

The man ceased his chase as Miyako dove behind Mimi. He craned his neck awkwardly, bending his spine to reach around, spinning as he did so, like dog after its own tail. "What? What's there?"

Koushiro and Mimi exchanged looks, the latter giggling, and Daisuke increased his attempts at snatching at whatever they were laughing about, face fixed in a cross scowl. Amused but sympathetic, Jyou grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to stop fussing, and pulled out his phone, snapping a picture of Daisuke's shoulders. He showed the image to the younger man, whose jaw dropped in surprise.

There, across his upper back, plastered in black temporary ink, was the phrase, _**If found, please clothe.**_

Daisuke cried bloody murder. "Who the hell did this?"

Miyako peeked around Mimi's shoulders, and her giggling only worsened Daisuke's temper. He rounded on Mimi, who could no longer contain herself, bursting out, "It was Taichi's idea!"

Koushiro threw up his hands, backing away when Daisuke turned to him. "He did it when you were taking a nap at the store yesterday; he said he'd come up with a way to keep you grounded just in case things got out of—,"

Daisuke turned back to Mimi, who protested again, "I had nothing to do with it, I swear! It was all Taichi!"

But Daisuke heard none of it. His voice was strangled as he narrowed his wild eyes at her. "Don't try to hide it! You and Taichi are always pranking me—you two are the worst together—,"

"Or the best together," suggested Koushiro with another laugh, tearing up.

Jyou stiffened a little, slipping a hand around Mimi's waist. "Let's get you that water."

Giggling, she allowed him to lead her from the others, who tried to calm Daisuke down amidst fits of laughter themselves. She accepted the glass of iced water he handed her, taking a shaky sip. She saw the way his brown wrinkled as he glanced back at their friends, biting his lip.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, smiling. "It was just a joke."

"I don't mind the joke," Jyou said quickly, not wanting to be misunderstood, but not certain what was bothering him more. "I just—I mean, when would you have even gotten it done with all the work you've been doing?"

She shrugged and set the glass down on the bar counter, motioning at the bartender to fill up another stem of champagne, to Jyou's displeasure. "You know how Daisuke's always sneaking in naps at work on the slow days." She smiled at the memory of this particular nap, rubbing her hands together evilly. "This will teach him."

Jyou glanced into the crowds, casually letting his gaze wander over each assembled face. "I'm sure it will, but don't you think it's crossing the line a little bit, putting a tattoo on his body without permission?"

"It's temporary. It'll wash out in a few weeks."

"That's not the point, Mimi."

She frowned, amusement lost. "It's a game. Daisuke knows that. Taichi and I are always playing games on him, and he does it right back."

He was not sure how else to bring it up, so he decided on matter-of-fact honesty. "You didn't used to play games like that before you met Taichi."

She did not hear the blunt tone. "He is a bit of an ingenious mastermind at it," she admitted with a fondness that made him uncomfortable. He shifted awkwardly, fingering his glasses, and she sighed. "I thought you liked that I can be silly sometimes."

"How do you expect to be silly and be taken seriously about that apprenticeship?"

The question stunned her. Her lips parted, but then she closed her mouth tightly, staring up into his face. His cheeks flushed a light pink, not from embarrassment, but from regret. He did not intend to be so honest about his reservations, but he couldn't let her go on not knowing what her behavior might cost her.

He lowered his voice. "Places like those restaurants want people who are serious about their work, Mimi. A lot of opportunities are riding on this for you, and I just want to be sure you are staying focused. I want your dreams to come true."

He had wanted to sound gentle and understanding, but her face was turned away and he could not see her expression. He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, startled when he felt her muscles stiffen under his touch.

When she raised her chin finally, she was smiling in a strange way, easily shrugging out of his arms. "I know you do. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apol—,"

"I'm going to get some air," she interrupted with a light voice, already stepping towards the doors before he could stop her. She tossed him a wide grin just as she slipped outside, "You all better have my cake ready when I get back!"

She did not wait for him to respond, and her chest felt tight as she ducked by a few well-wishers on their way inside. A small smile passed her lips, nodding politely to her friends, making up an excuse as she hurried along. She only stopped when she had already made it outside, standing on the sidewalk in the cold night air. Gathering up the skirts of her dress, she flounced down onto the curb, shivering. She could feel the corners of her eyes stinging, lip trembling, but she grit her teeth against a potential onslaught of emotions, taking a deep breath. Searching in her purse, her hand curled around the small mobile phone and pulled it into her frozen lap. Nervous fingers scrolled through her inbox, selecting their last text message, but her fingers stopped when she went to write him.

With a shuddering sigh, throat closing with unshed tears, she bent over and slowly typed out the small message.

_**Hey! You're missing all the fun! Where are you? **_

Adding a smiling emoticon for good measure, she hit the send button and waited, staring at the screen.

The message was delivered successfully, and less than a second later, the notification turned into a miniature check icon, indicating that it had been opened and read, with the timestamp next to it in tiny letters.

She continued watching the screen for several more minutes, her breath hitched, and waited for a response that did not come. Tears slipping finally, she threw the phone back in the purse with a furious cry and buried her face in her hands.

It took her a moment to compose herself, wiping her cheeks and evening her breathing. She checked her makeup in the pocket mirror from her purse, reapplying her lipstick carefully, then stood and returned to her birthday party. She smiled at Jyou from across the room, meeting his worried gaze with a carelessly happy one of her own, but stayed near the doors rather than rejoin him. She nodded at Daisuke who was shimmying around the dance floor with a flustered Miyako, who kept trying not to laugh, lest the maroon-haired man mistake her smile as an indication of enjoyment. She grinned at Koushiro, who waved from the bar where he was talking to Yamato. She surveyed the entire party, hazel gaze sweeping through the entire room before eventually, as it always did, returning to the doors beside her.

But it didn't matter how many times she let her gaze linger there at the entrance, stealing glances throughout the night.

He never came.


	10. Like That Could Save You From Your Past

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

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**Author's Note**: This is kind of a dark chapter, but it's necessary. I did give the warning that "Part Two" was going to be heavy, so here you are. Thanks for reading.

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_Like that could save you from your past_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

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His first sensation the next morning was delicious and utter bliss.

His first thought was that leaving the bed, both at that moment and ever again, for any reason, would be the stupidest mistake of his entire life. Why would he leave? Everything about this was perfect. The shades were drawn and the thermostat had settled to just the right toasty level and every direction he turned was met with snuggly pillows and thick blankets and silken hair and—

_Wait_.

His eyes snapped open.

He found himself with his face nestled against the soft curve of a neck that smelled like cinnamon, lips brushing bare shoulders and calloused fingers loosely gripping a smooth waist. Shifting carefully, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared down onto a beautiful face curled tightly against his chest.

His heart stopped.

"_Shit_."

His curse stirred her awake, but she did not open her eyes, only wiggling for the covers to pull over them. "Go back to sleep," she murmured, voice hoarse and scratchy. He winced as she turned to kiss his forearm, smiling softly, and settled herself back into him. A paralyzing dread clawed through his chest, and he could feel the panic sweltering inside his head as the reality of the situation came to a grinding stop.

His gasp was shaky and tense, "Mi—!"

An alarm clock suddenly sounded, throwing him back with a start, and he slipped over the covers and collided with the floor, disorientated. Reaching for the nightstand, she turned the alarm off with an annoyed grumble, muttering about the early hour. She sat up with a long sigh, pulling the sheets around her. Stifling a yawn, she at last met his wide-eyed gaze and only then seemed to see the petrified expression on his stunned face.

She blinked several times, the realization slowly dawning.

He immediately scrambled to his feet and threw himself towards her on the bed, clapping a hand over her mouth before the strangled shriek could escape.

A knock on the closed bedroom door announced a new voice. "Miyako? Are you awake?"

She squeaked, her frantic, warm breath blowing across his fingers as she mouthed a response that the human ear could not possibly understand. Inoue Chizuru heard the squealing in any case, and it was apparently not out of the ordinary for the youngest of the Inoue siblings to reply to questions with unintelligible grunts, so she did not investigate further. Instead, she barked, "It's your turn for the shower, so get up!"

There was some shuffling of feet, and then another sharp rap on the door, followed by a different voice as Inoue Momoe reminded crossly, "And don't forget we have dinner with the parents tonight, so don't be late coming home!"

Miyako waited for both sisters' footsteps to fade before raising her fingers to the hand still pressed over her mouth and sinking her sharp nails into the skin.

He yelped, shaking out his hands. "What was that for?"

She hissed back, furious, "What are you doing here?"

Still trying to sort that answer out for himself, he gestured wildly about the room, exasperated, pointing to each scattered item of clothing and tossed away shoe as though they boasted a sufficient enough response to such a question.

This was clearly the wrong thing to do, and her face turned a delicate shade of purple as a vein throbbed in an otherwise pretty forehead. Her voice was lethal. "Get. Out."

"Shouldn't I wait until we're sure your family won't kill me?"

She did not look the least bit bothered by the possibility of such an event occurring, and he shut his mouth.

"Get. Out. Now," she said, speaking so threateningly that he found himself rising to follow her cold instructions before he could even tell himself to obey. "And put your clothes on!" she cried out, hurtling a pillow at him.

"I'm tryna find them!" he started to protest, annoyed, but then stopped. "How can you even tell I'm not wearing anything?"

"I'm nearsighted, not blind!"

"Then why are you squinting right now"—his eyes widened with delight, smirk unbearably devilish—"unless you're tryna get one last good look, aren't you?"

Her scream was bloodcurdling, "_Get out_!"

The door flung open. "Miyako!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth and he dropped to the floor like a sack of rice.

Both sisters stood in the doorway: Momoe fuming at the front, short bangs pushed back with yellow plastic barrettes that matched the cropped tunic she wore over jeans, and Chizuru lingering behind her, smartly dressed in a neat business suit and hair pulled into a tight bun. The latter's face was contorted in irritation, expression assuming the signature Inoue glower. "What on earth are you yelling about?"

"I'm not even dressed!" the young woman whined, swallowing her body up with the blankets and rolling into a burrito, her face squashed into the pillow. "You guys can't just barge in like this! I have no privacy here!"

"You can have privacy when you can afford to live on your own," Chizuru scowled, bespectacled gaze judging every corner of the small bedroom, "or when you can prove that you can take care of yourself at all. Honestly, you're not in school anymore. Don't be so messy."

"Don't tell me what to do! I'm an adult—,"

Momoe snapped, "Adults don't scream like banshees for no good reason."

Miyako groaned, "Fine, I'm getting up, just go, please!"

Chizuru put up her hands, defensive. "Don't get snippy at us. We're just trying to make sure you aren't late for work. And we're hoping you aren't either, Daisuke, but high marks for such a well thought-out hiding spot."

With a wincing sigh, he crawled out from under the bed where he had dived, intending to hide, but missed by an obnoxiously wide margin. He ducked behind the bedside chair, hoping to conceal something of his naked dignity, suddenly self-conscious as he peered around the mattress corner to grin sheepishly at the three women staring at him now.

"Ladies, ladies, we really need to stop meeting like this," he chirped with good humor, deciding cheery optimism and a blatant denial of reality were the only available routes to take. "Doing well?"

"Very," said Momoe, and it took him another second to realize her gaze was lingering on him a bit too long and a bit too low.

Miyako noticed this, too, and she sat up with a scowl, while Daisuke balked, suddenly quite warm. Taking advantage of the argument that then broke out between the sisters, he scrambled for his pants, scurrying on his knees to the safety of Miyako's closet to pull them on. Stuffing the cummerbund and purple bowtie in his pockets, he found one of Miyako's university sweatshirts and slipped that over his torso, grateful that the girl had a penchant for oversized bulky winter wear. He cautiously reentered the bedroom a moment later, but not before Momoe had completely closed the door. She winked slyly at him as the door shut, and he swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat, gaze settling on the young woman on the bed with her face in her hands.

"I think they like me," he said to break the awkward silence.

She groaned, "Why do we always do this?"

"…'Cause we're good at it?"

"That's not a reason," she bristled, shooting him a look. Then her expression seemed to soften, and she sighed, fingers anxiously curling around long, thin hair. "You'll be late if you don't leave now, and you know how picky Mimi is about her shop."

Daisuke shrugged, hands in his pockets. "She's not in today. I've got to prep a few deliveries for tomorrow and run through the inventory, but technically the shop is closed. It always is on Mimi's birthday."

Miyako rolled her eyes, amused. "That was yesterday. It's not her birthday anymore."

"Ah, but it's still her birthday week. And month. And year. And millennium."

A laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. Relaxed now that she was, too, he picked up the dressing gown thrown over the back of the bedside chair and handed it over. She accepted it gratefully, slipping it over her shivering body and wrapping it tight to keep the warmth close. "It was a fun party," she said with fond recollection. "I'm glad I could go."

"Me, too," he said and she glanced at him. He recovered immediately and winked to turn the unexpected honesty into a passing joke, sauntering across the room. "Anyway, don't cry too much when I leave."

She makes a face, tossing her hair with that air of nonchalance he always found confounding. "Don't make any bets, Motomiya."

"You know me, I always go down swinging."

She clicked her tongue in disapproval and shuffled into a pair of slippers. Peeked out into the apartment, she gestured for him to follow her to the front door, while he amused himself at the stealthy way she pounced from corner to corner.

"No one's here, Miyako—,"

"Keep your voice down!"

He could feel the annoyance creep up at her exaggeration. "The apartment's empty."

"But the building isn't," she pointed out, cracking the door open to peer into the hallway.

He snuck up behind her, bracing a hand against the door and forcing it shut as he leaned against it. She glowered up at him, tugging uselessly at the knob, while he cocked his head to the side. "You know, _since_ Mimi's not coming in today, and I've got the whole place to myself, you should drop by. I'll make you lunch. Or dinner." He winked, "Or breakfast."

Miyako's mouth pulled into a small, tight frown, and she pressed the tip of a slender finger into his throat. "You listen to me. You were never here, and you can never prove it. This is the last time we let this happen, do you understand?"

Neglecting to point out how often she had given him that same speech, he stuck out his bottom lip in a pronounced, silly pout. "I thought you liked my cooking?"

She put her entire weight into yanking the door open, and he stumbled in surprise, losing his footing in her unexpectedly impressive display of strength. Wordlessly pointing into the hallway, she waited with pursed lips and Daisuke made a big deal of dragging his feet outside.

"Denial is not a good look on you, Miyako."

She shoved him outside. "Remember, don't tell Mimi—,"

"She's going to find out about us eventually—,"

"Stop!" Her voice was high-pitched, bordering on the hysterical as she flinched and grabbed him by the collar of the sweatshirt, shaking hard. "There is no _'us'_, we are not an _'us'_, got it?"

"Okay, okay!" He pulled back and she seemed satisfied by the way he gulped, straightening when she let him go. And then suddenly he dipped his face towards her and stole a kiss from her forehead, "Until next time, pookie."

"_Daisuke_!"

He crowed, delighted with himself, "Isn't it great that after all our illicit meetings, I'm still not tired of you yelling my name?"

Her hand darted out to slap his shoulder, but he ducked it easily, laughing, and skidded into the hallway. The door slammed to coincide with her last squeal of anguish, and he turned towards the elevator, chuckling in satisfaction.

"The ol' walk-of-shame, is it?"

Daisuke glanced to the left to see a tall, good-looking blond man standing outside the flat two doors down from the one the Inoue sisters shared. He was carrying a gym bag over one shoulder and a basketball under the other arm, and despite his own sweaty appearance, he seemed entirely amused by Daisuke's equally ragged state, albeit for an entirely different reason. His dark blue eyes winked, and Daisuke thought he looked vaguely familiar, but then the meaning of his words registered and he grimaced. He opened his mouth to snap at the stranger to mind his own business, but then the man spoke again, cutting him off.

"For what it's worth," he said cheerfully, "I think her sisters like you better than the other guy." He smiled, nodding his head in a goodbye and shutting the apartment door behind him.

Daisuke stood in the hallway for a moment longer, feeling the weight of strange emptiness pressing around his ears, breath hitched.

_Other guy…?_

Scowling, he shook his head, running frustrated fingers over the back of his neck, and began the short journey back to his own flat by train. Within an hour he was back at the front door of the catering shop, still grumbling as he kicked the dirt off his shoes on the outside mat and pulled the door hard behind him, leaving the closed sign plainly visible. The store was empty and cold, and he punched the light switch, florescent tubes flickering to life as he threw his knapsack and coat down on the front desk. He went through the morning work routine with as much passive-aggressive peevishness as he could allow while alone and unobserved, and it wasn't until the printer finally spit out the inventory lists and he stood in front of the first row of shelves in the refrigerator that he stopped. He stared at the lines of frozen bags with resentment that had turned, somehow, into anything but.

He pitched forward, forehead colliding heavily with the edge of the plastic shelf. Cursing his own stupidity, and more annoyed that he was even bothered in the first place, he seemed momentarily content to leave his pounding head stuck inside the freezer for the rest of the morning, miserably resigned to performing great dramatics even in private, until his ears picked up the sound of a violent tapping on the front door.

"We're closed!" he shouted without turning away from the open freezer, his face impossibly stiff from the cold exposure.

The knocking only grew louder, and Daisuke clenched his teeth together. This was not the day to mess with him, not after that idiot blond stranger had to ruin everything that had ever been fun.

"We are closed! Read the sign!"

There was a pause—then the doorbell rang, and Daisuke lost it.

"_I said, we're closed_, _asshole_!" he screamed, spinning around to conclude his tirade with the appropriate lewd hand gesture—and then he stopped, jaw to the floor.

Koushiro was standing outside the doors, leaning heavily against the glass. Around his shoulders hung a Taichi so disheveled that Daisuke almost didn't recognize him. His browns eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were a wrinkly mess, as though he had slept in them, or hadn't slept at all. The dark navy suit latched onto flushed, perspiring skin, and the front of his white button-up dress shirt was stained with dried sick. He couldn't stand by himself, but he still tried, struggling to pull away from a visibly anxious Koushiro ready to topple under the weight of his friend at any moment. The redhead's frantic gaze pleaded with Daisuke, and the latter dropped the clipboard, hurrying to the doors.

"What the hell happened?" he exclaimed, hoisting Taichi's other arm over his own shoulders and helping Koushiro drag the man inside.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," Koushiro rasped, dumping Taichi unceremoniously onto one of the lounge chairs at the front of the store. "I'm sorry to come here, but I didn't know where else to take him. This was the closest place from the office."

"Icun hear you," slurred Taichi, sliding to the floor in his clumsy fumbling. Daisuke grabbed his shoulders and shoved him upright, and his head hit the back of the chair with a smack that made the other men wince. But Taichi just kept grinning, feeling nothing.

He reeked, and Daisuke was stunned. "Are you—?"

"Yep," declared Taichi with pride. "Im 'stremely happy and 'stremely drunk. H're you?"

Koushiro's face darkened and Daisuke glanced at the clock on the wall, its small hand inching forward to the early hour. He stared at Taichi's flustered, red face with something like disbelief.

"You showed up to work like this."

He had meant for it to be a question, desperately trying to make sense of a side of Taichi he had never seen before, but it sounded like a statement instead, his first admission that everything was wrong.

In response, Taichi just laughed, and Koushiro sank into the chair beside him, arm outstretched to help balance his friend as the man swayed sitting down. Still trying to process what was happening, Daisuke went to the sink to fill a glass of water, then thought better of it and turned on the coffee machine, too. He carried the water back to the front lounge, but Taichi took one look at it and his face paled, grin slipping. Daisuke recognized that expression at once, backing away, and Koushiro grabbed Taichi's arm, lifting him to his unstable feet.

"Over there," said Daisuke, pointing to the restrooms, then quickly set the glass down to help.

They reached the bathroom just as Taichi's legs finally gave away and he dove for the toilet, retching. Koushiro yanked several napkins from the wall dispenser, wetting them with tap water. The older man grabbed for them without aim, grunting, his back smacking against the thin wall of the stall while Daisuke reached over him to press the flush lever. Wiping his mouth with difficulty, Taichi hung his head and panted, elbows on knees brought close into his chest.

Daisuke had never been good at emotional situations. He preferred to rise above them, charging like a crazed bulldozer through barriers to bliss and unaffected pleasure, and whenever reality reared its head from across another wall, Daisuke just dug underneath and pressed onwards. But there wasn't a way to press on from here, no matter how many weeks they'd spent ignoring the circumstances of their meeting, the origins of their friendship, the ugly, lonely elephant in the room. There hadn't been a need to, not until now.

"What should we do?" he whispered nervously now, eyeing Taichi's slumped and still form as though he expected the man to either combust into a pool of alcoholic misery or, worse, cry.

Koushiro already had his phone out. "I left Yamato a voicemail, but I'll try Hikari's mobile."

"Who?"

"His sister."

"Oh." Daisuke chewed his lip. "Well, if you can't find his friends—I mean, do you think I should call Mimi?"

Koushiro paused, thinking quickly.

Daisuke added, "This is her store. I don't care if he stays here, but I feel like she should know what's going on."

The redhead seemed to hesitate, but then resigned himself. "Okay. We'll need all the reinforcements we can get. I don't know how to get him home, and I've still got to go back to work and deal with the office."

Daisuke lowered his voice at that comment, morbidly intrigued. "He really just showed up like this was a normal workday?"

"He was worse there," said Koushiro flatly. "The security guards were holding him down in the lobby when I got in. I just had enough time to grab him and come here. Our boss isn't an intolerant man, but you just don't—," and he stopped, shaking his head. His voice was strained, "I've never seen him like this."

"He was fine yesterday," remembered Daisuke. "I mean, he seemed tired but—what could have happened?"

Koushiro's eyes flashed. "She happened," he said, voice cold. Daisuke glanced at him, surprised by the defensive anger and frustration in a man who seemed so calm and put together otherwise. "Look at what she did to him."

He hadn't moved, face still in his hands, and Daisuke swallowed thickly, stomach churning. "Well," he said after a moment, flipping open his phone and searching through his messages, "we'll figure it out later. We need to get him home first. I'll text Mimi; you call this sister lady. Tell her if she can come here, that's better."

Taichi groaned, shaking his head violently, and Daisuke realized with a start that he had been listening to them the whole time, or at least he had heard enough of what mattered. "No—not 'Kari—dun wan'her ta get 'pset—,"

"Then Mimi," said Daisuke, already writing the text.

He didn't protest, fingers gripping his hair.

It was a long moment before he spoke again, voice like a tired child. "Yam'to?"

"I called him, Taichi," promised Koushiro, but his friend did not seem to hear. So he tried again, in a softer voice, "What happened?"

Taichi stirred, raising his head at last. He took a shaky breath, "D'yano what 'sterday was?"

Daisuke sighed, remembering the party, "Yeah, Mimi's birthday. I think she was pissed you weren't there, but—,"

He ignored him, interrupting loudly, "'sterday was th' day I 'sked her ter marry me. One year 'go 'sterday." He grinned, shaking his head like a bad dream.

Koushiro lowered his phone to his lap, while Daisuke fell silent at once, lump growing in his throat.

Taichi went on, "D'yano what'lse happn'd 'sterday?" Without waiting for an answer, he slumped forward, struggling to reach into his pants pocket, and pulled out a small letter. The paper was crumpled so much the fibers had become soft and leathery, as though it had been opened and read many times. He waved the sheet at Daisuke, pressing it into the man's hands roughly.

Daisuke met Koushiro's concerned gaze, hesitating. Taichi saw the wordless exchange and his expression hardened. His fingers grasped the letter in Daisuke's hand and shoved it at him, pushing the younger man back, voice booming. "_Readit_."

"Taichi—,"

"Give it here," interrupted Koushiro in a calm voice. He put his phone down and took the letter from Daisuke, who remained visibly uncomfortable by the gravity of the moment. The man's dark eyes skimmed the contents quickly, and there was no change on his face when he raised his chin again. Avoiding Daisuke's gaze, he folded the paper and stared at Taichi, who grinned back at him, red eyes wide and delirious.

"Innit funny?" he giggled.

"No," answered Koushiro. His sigh was deep and pained. "No, it's not funny."

But Taichi just sank lower against the stall door, doubled over in a fit of laughter that he couldn't control, his heart pushing to escape a chest so tight it caved into him, making him feel impossibly small and unbearably hollow. He lost his footing and fell facedown, yanking away from their hands when they tried to help him up. He crawled pitifully on the cold linoleum floor, his head spinning, shaking from irrepressible laughter.

Because it _was_ funny, it was—it was funny how nothing made sense anymore—nothing was real—everything was gone—everything was over—

And then he felt familiar soft hands reach to cup his face, and in between another rasping gasp of breathless laughter, his eyes found hers.

"She married someone else," he whispered in a fleeting moment of sobriety so real he couldn't breathe.

Mimi's arms slipped around his shoulders and she pulled him into her lap, cradling his head against her chest.

"She marr'd s'mone else," Taichi repeated, wet face pressed into the curve of Mimi's neck, for in all his feverish laughter he had not yet realized he was crying, or that he had been all along. "'snly been six m'nths—and—she—marr'd—s'mone—else—,"

Koushiro's face was pale, and Daisuke leaned forward, "Taichi…."

Mimi glanced at him, shaking her head.

So Daisuke jumped to his feet, voice hoarse. "I'll get the coffee," he stammered, rushing from the room before anyone could respond.

He strode quickly to the kitchen counter, lifting the steaming hot pot of coffee from its holder. He stood there, holding the container for a long moment, breathless, and then he dropped it quickly, launching for his cell phone.

She did not answer, and he knew she wouldn't; she always let her phone go to voicemail at work. He waited impatiently for the beep, and then the words fell before he could think to stop them, even if he wanted to.

"Hey, it's Dais. Listen, about—about this 'us' thing—just hear me out one time, okay? Call me back."

He hung up, dizzy from the adrenaline, and glanced back at the restrooms. Fingers wrapped around thick maroon bangs as he shut his eyes and breathed. _Please don't make me the other guy._


	11. History Is Like Gravity

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

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**Author's Note**: With apologies to all for the delay, here is the next installment. On another note, I'm really touched this is resonating with folks. Writing this has been my therapy, and I'm happy people are enjoying such a silly story. As for the content, I am a big believer of _when it rains, it pours_ and other such superstitions. As such, more heaviness features here, but also more friendship feels. Roll with the punches, as they say. Thanks for reading.

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_History is like gravity_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Masking her disgust with a light cough, Hikari picked up a ceramic hippopotamus colored with bright purple and pink polka dots, sprouting a pair of tiny, disproportionate wings over fat, rounded shoulders and a voluptuous torso decorated with painted chest hair. "What about this?"

Her brother peeked out from around a kitchen cabinet, squinting at the atrocity in her hands. His expression melted. "You made that for me!"

"Oh!" She gave a jolt, guilt rushing into her bones, and she raked her mind trying to remember the event. She turned the little statue over in her small fingers, a shiver of dread running through her skin. What on earth had she been thinking painting something this obnoxious?

Dark brown eyes narrowed, and he sounded hurt. "You don't remember."

"Well, I think I—,"

He broke into a mischievous grin, cackling. "I'm just kidding; you didn't make it. It's from that year Dad and I sent each other gag gifts from thrift stores."

She relaxed at once, partially annoyed at his ability to rile her just for a laugh, but mostly relieved her otherwise moderately successful art skills had never touched something this ridiculous.

Taichi did not notice the look she threw him, still chuckling. "That was a great gift exchange, one for the books. Somewhere in these boxes, I've also got a plush toy in the shape of the gonorrhea virus, a deck of cards with nude women in body paint, and a glow-in-the-dark constellation star chart that's not shy about imagining what's really going on with the Seven Sisters and the rest of Orion's Belt area."

Hikari remembered each of them all too well.

It was Taichi's first year at university, and his absence had made their small family home feel intolerably empty. To soothe the physical loss, and tapping into that inappropriate sense of humor Yagami men had developed into an impeccable science, their father Susumu had resorted to tongue-in-cheek care packages that his eldest son had been all too happy to match and exceed with wacky finds of his own. Yuuko, the long-suffering mother, had tolerated the increasingly suggestive gift exchange for months, believing it was what father and son needed to bond—until a gold-casted dildo touted to be an exact replica of the Prime Minister's shlong arrived, and Yuuko put her foot down.

Hikari shook her head at the memories and placed the hippopotamus into the donations box. "Then back to the thrift shop it will go."

Taichi saluted. "May it find happiness in the great beyond."

"Godspeed, little guy," she said, closing the box, "or little girl."

"I haven't figured it out either," said Taichi as he returned his attention to the cabinets. "But I never did like the way it looked at me."

She braced her hands on narrow hips, gazing about the apartment. Each corner had been upturned, every drawer examined, every shelf cleared out. Packing tape, bubble wrap, and newspaper covered the floor space remaining, while stacks of variously-sized boxes stationed themselves in key locations around the flat, ready to take in whatever knick-knack still left to pack. After saying farewell to the hippopotamus, she had finished the last box in the living room, the bath and bedroom long since done.

The only room left was the kitchen.

He had been there for an hour now, going through his possessions at a pace that Hikari suspected was deliberately torturous. The tiled floor was now cluttered with an assortment of utensils, measuring cups, and dishcloths, and Hikari marveled at the amount of kitchenware he had managed to collect over the years despite demonstrating zero prowess in the realm of food preparation outside of the microwave and one-pot skillet wonders that were anything but.

With a loud sigh, he perched back on the balls of his heels, lifting his phone from his pocket and taking a picture of an egg beater before tossing it into a trash bag.

Suppressing the instinct to admonish him, she instead inclined her head to the right, wrinkling her nose. "What are you doing?"

"Mimi doesn't like when I text her at work, so I've been texting her at work. Check it out."

He beckoned her forward, finishing up the last in his constant stream of picture messages. Hikari moved around the counter and bent behind him, peering over his shoulder.

The screen depicted a dimly lit and terribly cropped picture of the egg beater handle, which he had edited to include the caption, _**twerked out, so beat**_. He scrolled upwards, and in a rapid slew of blurry examples, her eyes caught clear glimpses of a tablespoon (_**i spoon there4 i am**_); a skillet (_**2 fry is human**_) followed by a stovetop grill press (_**2 grill, divine**_); a plastic noodle strainer (_**y do i get the feeling my life is passing rite thru me**_); and a set of bamboo coasters (_**coast with me if u want 2 live**_).

Hikari fixed her expression into bemused interest, careful to watch her words. "Don't torment her with your bad puns, Taichi. You know she's busy."

"How dare you. I am the punniest punner."

She rapped the back of her fingers lightly against his cheek, and he turned the screen off on the phone.

"Besides, this is what she gets for being too _busy_ to help me." He scrunched up his nose at what he believed was a terribly poor excuse, feigning an annoyance that Hikari was not sure was unreal.

"That's because no one in their right mind would voluntarily help someone else move apartments."

They glanced at the front door, where a grumpy, lanky blond in washed out jeans and a faded red sweatshirt was struggling to push a wobbly hand truck over the doormat. He succeeded just as Hikari rose to help him, wiping a flushed forehead with the back of his hand.

"_You're_ here," Taichi pointed out with a chuckle.

"I haven't been in my right mind in decades," grumbled Willis, kicking off his shoes as he stepped over boxes to reach them in the kitchen. "I thought you said you'd be done by the time we brought the car back?"

Taichi observed with mild apprehension the way Willis' hand brushed the back of Hikari's neck, curling over thin brown wisps of hair. Ignoring the instinct to disapprove, he waved nonchalantly at the amount of material he had to sort through, as though it were clear that he had been given an obnoxiously difficult task to begin with. "I think you're failing to see the real problem."

"That you're a hoarder?" Willis' sky blue eyes scanned the haphazard kitchen, face wrinkled in disapproval.

"That would be putting it lightly," said another voice, and Hikari waved from around her boyfriend's shoulder.

Sora smiled back at her, pausing at the entrance of the kitchen to whip her short red hair into an even shorter ponytail. Her grin faltered when she saw the little progress made, and her sigh mirrored the discontent on Willis' face exactly. "Taichi, you have to be out of here by three o'clock, remember?"

"I've got lots of time," he said dismissively, picking up a butter knife and taking a picture of it.

"No, you've got precisely forty minutes of time," she groaned, "and why are you taking pictures of things?"

"It's a game he's playing with Mimi," explained Hikari, relieved that Sora was there to wring some sense into her brother.

Right on cue, Sora's hands went on her hips and her round eyes narrowed. "You're what?"

Taichi gulped.

Briefly wondering if she should be more careful for what she wished, Hikari tugged on Willis' arm and already started taking several steps away. "We're going to bring back the finished boxes," she said.

"And miss another epic Takenouchi smack down?"

"_Willis_—,"

"Wait, take me with you," said Taichi, recognizing the flashing glint in his friend's eye as she advanced on him with the very air of a malevolent creature turned loose.

"You brought this on yourself, Tai," said Hikari in a resigned voice, pushing a still protesting Willis out of the kitchen.

Her brother yelled after the pair as they darted back into the living room, "I'm filling your entire flat with sexually-ambiguous ceramic hippos, 'Kari! Just you wait!"

Sora had enough forethought to hit the pause on her temper until Hikari had secured the boxes onto the hand truck and Willis was steering it back out the door towards the elevator, keeping her fiery gaze on the suddenly bashful man crouching on the kitchen floor. The door shut, and she let him squirm in silence for a moment longer. Then she held out her hand. "Give it to me."

"Are you seriously going to confiscate my phone? What is this, grade school?"

"_You're_ the one still stuck in grade school," she corrected icily. Before he could blink, she had pounced, diving for the phone. He wrenched his arm away, twisting out of her reach, and they collided with the cabinets behind him. "Stop—fighting—me!"

"Never!" He shoved her back, scrambling, mobile safely tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.

She stood again, face red. "We all gave up our entire Saturday to help you move, and you're sitting around playing a stupid game?"

"You look like a cherry popsicle."

Sora glowered, which did not help to dismiss the comparison. "I really wish you'd grow up, Taichi."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Remember when you hurled spaghetti sauce at me because I said it was spicy? Should I be adult like that?"

"You didn't _say_ it was spicy; you _spat_ everything out into my flower pot—,"

Taichi winced, confidence dwindling a little. "You only win arguments because your memory is freakishly exact."

Her jaw muscle twitched. "It was last week."

"Still makes you a freak." As usual, he did not seem to grasp her point, dismissively waving her off and picking up the last empty cardboard box from the living room. He set it on the kitchen counter, filling it up with little care.

Shaking her head, she approached him, taking out the saucepan to wrap in bubbled paper. "It will be good for you, the new apartment."

Taichi spoke casually, unaffected, "I always do things that are good for me."

"Mm-hm," but she was smiling now, so he relaxed.

"Don't go getting any crazy ideas, though. Just because I'm now living within walking distance of your place, that doesn't mean I want more of your killer spaghetti. Once was enough."

"I'll have you know I get a lot of compliments about that sauce."

He laughed, "From who?"

She ducked her face behind a blender, pretending to inspect it for dents and scratches. His dark brown eyes followed her nervous movements, and the smile slipped a little. Then he recovered, teasing out another grin. "You met someone."

"It's really recent," she said at once and a little too quickly.

"If he thinks your cooking is good, then it must be," he replied, and Sora lobbed a salt shaker at him. He caught it easily, shaking his head with a smirk. "How'd you meet?"

"He's one of my dad's research assistants." Her cheeks were pink, and she was annoyed at herself for feeling so shy. Averting her gaze, she carried the finished box into the living room, setting it on the floor by the door.

"Ah," said Taichi, sounding awkward himself, a feat both unusual and strange to see on an otherwise assured persona.

Her stare settled on him, studying his face carefully. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a noncommittal sound, Sora. It means nothing."

"So you don't have anything to say?" she asked coolly.

He did not miss the tone of voice, but he was not interested in taking the bait. Instead, he fell back on the couch, stretching his legs before him and his arms above him, rubbing the back of his head. "If he's good to you, then I'm happy. And you call me the second he isn't, you know that."

Her expression softened, and she punched his shoulder lightly, collapsing into the seat beside him with her legs curled underneath her. "I know." Tucking her chin in a palm, she added in a softer voice, "Have you talked to him recently?"

"He is my best friend, Sora."

"You're mine, and we can go weeks without talking when things get busy," she pointed out, bristling a little when she reminded herself of this seemingly unavoidable consequence of growing up.

"I talk to you about the important things," he said.

"Sometimes I don't want to hear just the important things, Tai. Sometimes I want to hear about everything else, too."

"All right." He scrunched up his face thoughtfully. "Daisuke sliced his thumb open and fainted into the cake at a birthday party he was catering. I turned all the dishcloths pink when I put my red handkerchief in the laundry for a joke, and Mimi wouldn't let me past the front desk for a week. Koushiro found Daisuke's old school yearbook and we changed his profile picture on their website and he can't figure out how to change it back. Mimi's mother came to visit and she showed me some old photos; can you believe Mimi went through grade school with _pink_ hair—?"

"That's not what I meant," interrupted Sora, uncurling her legs and sitting back. "I was talking about your life."

"I'm telling you about my life."

She shook her head. "You're telling me about their lives, Tai, and if I can be honest, I really am not interested."

"Well, I am," he said, "because living theirs means I don't have to live mine."

It was the closest he had come to admitting the root of his problem, but Sora took it anyway. She seized upon it, a gateway into a world he so rarely let her down anymore. "That's what I don't understand. Wouldn't hanging around the people you hired to cater your wedd—to cater for you remind you of it each time you met them?"

He fell silent, face raised to the ceiling as he stared at an unfixed point.

"I just wish you'd tell me what's going on with you first," she said after a long moment, "instead of—well," and she shrugged, knowing it was useless to be jealous of people who had helped him, too.

His voice was strangely low, "You're one to talk."

She raised her chin, brow furrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out," said Taichi, standing from the couch.

Sora gritted her teeth, flustered. "That has nothing to do with this—,"

"Spare me the bullshit."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, Taichi. You don't know anything."

He threw up his hands, point made. "And whose fault is that? We don't talk anymore because we're not the same anymore. Yamato lives across town, you're always busy and now I know why, and it's like we—," and he sucked in his breath. He lowered his arms, voice dropping to a tired note. "We've all been shutting each other out." When she did not respond, he returned to his seat, laying with his hands laced at the nape of his neck. "When did that happen to us?"

Sora didn't know. It was that distance again, the one she had felt all the time these days, but it was harder to face a separation artificially made, and by her own choice. So she had enveloped herself deeply in her own life, her work and other responsibilities, and it had been nothing but a blanket excuse. She felt the hypocrisy in criticizing how Taichi had ducked out of a life that reminded him too much of what had left him behind, even if all it did was follow him anyway. But she had become too used to the space that lay between them.

She did not like being vulnerable.

The guilt ate at her heart, or what had been left of it.

She whispered, "He wanted to marry me."

He was silent.

She put her head in her hands, face turned into the palm, fingertips pressing little white circles into the rise of already pale cheekbones. "The week before your wedd—the week before, I found the ring in his sock drawer."

Taichi turned his face towards her, staring with wide eyes. "…Yamato has an entire drawer for socks?"

Her mood snapped.

"_Forget it_—," she hissed, starting to stand, but then a hand curled around her wrist and she was pulled back beside him roughly, shoulders knocking together.

"All right, no jokes, I'll stop," he said, quickly swallowing the hint of a cheeky smile on his lips when she glanced at him coldly. He softened. "I'm listening, okay? Please, Sora." He slipped his hand over hers, resting their entwined fingers on her knee.

Tense muscles relaxed, even as her chest seem to constrict, squeezing her heart into her throat. She waited another moment to sort out a rush of thoughts, breathless. "We never talked about getting married. We kept things simple and it was enough. It was what I wanted. And then I found the ring, and I saw the big plan he had for us without even asking me if my plans were the same." His expression clouded, but she beat him to it. "So I ended it." She sounded far more confident than she felt, even now, about the decision.

This time, his voice was soft. "Are you sure you would have said 'no'?"

There wasn't an answer she could give that wouldn't have been a lie to herself, so she kept her lips pressed together, swallowing her instincts. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her shoulders in the vague outline of a shrug, falling still immediately after.

Taichi did not ask again, releasing her hand at last. After a prolonged pause, he let out a flat and defeated sigh. "No wonder he's my best friend. We keep trying to marry girls who don't want to marry us. You can't fake common interests like that."

Her face darkened. "You said you wouldn't make fun."

"I'm not." He prickled with irritation, and his voice seemed to grow louder the faster he spat the words out, stunning her. "But, honestly, what do you want me to say, Sora? As someone from the other side, I assume part of the reason you're telling me this is to see what _I_ think _he_ thinks, right? So, then what? You want me to tell you that you're right for bailing? You're right for getting out while you could? That going for the selfish preemptive strike is the best way to not get hurt?"

"It's not like that—,"

"You're doing exactly what she did," he said lowly.

The silence came like a knife between them, cutting apart an already fragile thread. She felt the walls rising back up, a sea of distrust and misunderstanding.

How could _he_ possibly understand?

Why did she have to fight to justify _her_ feelings?

Was there always a right and a wrong in relationships, with nothing in between?

She felt herself boiling over, coming undone. "_Fine_!" she shouted, startling him, lurching to her feet. "I'm the monster! I'm in the wrong! It's all my fault and now I've got to live with the mistake for the rest of my life, a life that will never be as happy as it could have been if I hadn't been the bitch who broke his heart!" Her chest was heaving, breath rattling in her throat. "Is that what you want to hear?"

He tore his gaze away, downcast, and shifted back into the cushions. "'Want' is a bit strong."

She did not retake her seat, fingers forming fists at her sides. "If I'm like her, then I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You're not her."

The quiet honesty of his voice calmed the raging storm inside her head, her anger stilling when she realized he was not. She held her breath. "I think I am sometimes," she admitted at last, because she had spent months convincing herself it was true.

But then he looked up at her, and the temper was gone. In its place was a strange kind of remorse, and she wondered who he felt sorry for most. He attempted a small, apologetic smile. "Loads different," he promised. "You're not putting him into crushing debt. You didn't marry your rebound. You're not making him so pathetic he has to move apartments and neglect his old friends for cooler, newer ones," he added with a teasing smile, head falling back on the edge of the couch with a sad smack. He tilted his chin, glancing at her. "And you're not a bitch, Sora. He doesn't think you are. He never could."

"He does. I know it." She crossed the room stiffly, arms wrapped around her own shoulders.

"That would mean you don't know Yamato," he said. "But you do. And you know I'm right."

She remained persistent, feverish in her conviction. "I know what he wants. He wants his family back, and he wants a family again. It's always been an issue with him and Takeru; you know it has. That's what that ring was really asking me to give him."

Taichi was strangely quiet, studying her with uncharacteristic perception. He cast a nervous hand over his face, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "You never told him."

She did not respond, and he leaned forward in his seat, fingers over his ears as he stared at the floor. Then he stood, and she glanced at him, uncertain, until he spoke. "Sora—,"

"Please don't," she interrupted at once, heart in her throat.

"If that's the real reason you—,"

"It doesn't matter."

"_Sora_."

"It doesn't!" she insisted, a panic to her voice that did not belong.

"You have to give him the option of knowing," he protested, and then bit his tongue when he saw the tears spilling over her cheeks, for the first time that day.

"And I had an option?" She shook her head, swallowing a hiccup. "It's just better this way."

"For who?"

"For me," and her tone was agitated, insistent and forceful. "I'm thinking of me, Taichi, and if that's unfair, then fine, burn me at the stake. I don't care. But I need to think of _me_ sometimes, for _once_."

When he did not speak, she waited for the panic to dim, and when it did not, she pressed the heels of her palms against her temples. "It's very simple. He wants to get married and have a family. It's a simple thing. It's the simplest thing, and it's the one thing that I'll never be able to—," and she gasped, sinking against the wall, "—so how could—how could I look him in the eye and tell him he can't have a family with me?"

In an instant he had come to crouch on the ground in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. She lay her wet cheek against his fingers, afraid to meet his gaze. "You know what the worst part is?" she whispered.

He smoothed back her short bangs with his other hand. "Yamato owns more socks than you do?"

She breathed deeply, eyes closed. "If he knew, he would stay, because he is a better person than me. He'd accept everything, and he would make it work, if it were him." Pale hands covered her face and she shook her head. "But I'm not like that, and I really don't like myself for it." Her voice trailed off, trembling a little at the end.

The curl of his lips was gentle and kind. "That's not entirely your fault, you know, driving yourself crazy about what he might be thinking. He's a like a parasitic tick that worms its way under your skin and leaves its head in your bloodstream, and you're doomed, living his disease for the rest of your life." He pressed his forehead to hers, letting his thumb poke gently into the curve of her cheek, teasing at the corner of her mouth. "That's what Ishida is. A tick."

She smiled into her fingers, scrubbing her cheeks dry. "I don't like ticks."

"Who does?"

"But I still love him."

Taichi kissed her temple. "Who doesn't?"

His pocket vibrated, and she hiccupped, surprised. Fishing the mobile from his jeans, he saw a flurry notifications for several retaliatory text messages, momentarily confused by their sudden descent into his rapidly growing inbox. Then he remembered the picture war and he flinched on instinct. Maybe he should have toned down the torturous puns.

Then the lock screen displayed previews of the newest messages, each depicting a tiny thumbnail of a miniature fudge sculpture bearing an uncanny resemblance to his own self and dangling in precarious positions about the catering shop: from the top of a shelf to the depths of the freezer bin; from the heated coil of the stovetop to the bottom of a bottle of vinegar; from the flat edge of a humongous knife to the end of a string tied around his figurine's neck. _**Just in case your stupid texts cost me a job, I made these voodoo dolls to figure out how to thank you.**_

Well, maybe not.

"Go ahead and answer," said Sora with a smile, taking his hand and pulling the both of them up to their feet.

But he returned the phone to his pocket. "It's not important—,"

She smirked, pushing a large box stuffed with bedspreads and pillows towards the door with her foot. "I know that look, Tai."

"Don't be stupid—,"

"Being defensive only makes you guiltier."

The flush on his cheeks did not fade, and he raised his chin, nose wrinkled. "I thought you were all grumpy about being replaced?"

She paused, lips pursed in feigned shock. "Are you planning on replacing me?"

"I wasn't until that spaghetti sauce."

Sora rolled her eyes, lifting the last cardboard box onto the stack by the door and dusting off her hands. "Keep talking, Yagami, and that spaghetti sauce is the only food I'm bringing to your housewarming party."

He sputtered, chest swelling in fear. "Don't even joke about that."


	12. It Holds You Down Away From Me

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note**: Halfway mark! For those following "The Second Hand" and/or "Neverland": I will get a new chapter out soon. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading.

* * *

_It holds you down away from me_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

"You're late," Mimi snapped as soon as he answered. Daisuke's voice mumbled with static, and she made a face, pulling her ear away from the phone a fraction. "And where are you?" she demanded, raising her tone.

She heard the shuffling of feet and the sound of a door closing, and when he spoke, it was with a faint echo. "I said, I can't come."

Her face fell immediately, "Why not?"

"Something came up, and I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it."

She kicked the air in frustration, earning a wary glance from a pair of passing schoolgirls. Turning away with flushed cheeks, she paced down the snowy sidewalk, boots crunching over salted, dirtied ice. "You can't make me go by myself," she hissed.

"Don't be a baby—,"

"—says the guy who fainted from a cut to his thumb—,"

"—just because you have to go to a party by yourself." He huffed, and she could hear the annoyed grimace through the speaker. "And it was a huge cut. I was very manly about it, all the eight-year-olds there said so."

She leaned against the brick wall of a closed shop, the chilly night air prickling through the tiny spaces in her woolen hat, biting at her ears. Whining, she protested, "I'm not going to know anyone else."

"That's not true. Sure, Koushiro's out of town, but Taichi will be there. It _is_ his housewarming party."

"He'll be busy playing the host all night."

"…You have met Taichi, right? It'll be a miracle if he remembers he's hosting at all."

She turned so the side of her head pressed into the wall, chewing on her nails. "You really can't come?"

"I told you, something came up."

Suddenly, the reason for his fidgeting became clear, and her eyes narrowed, nose scrunched. "She'd better be pretty," she threatened, then retracted the statement, quickly, ego bruised when she considered the notion with serious hindsight. "Not as much as me, though, or you're fired."

"No one could hold a candle to you, Mimi, not to me." He hesitated, lowering his voice, "I'll make it all up to you later, I promise."

"Oh, you definitely will."

His chuckle coincided with the sound of a lever being pulled and the gush of running water. Mimi balked, straightening at once, jaw open.

Her screech was muffled by her scarf. "Are you seriously calling me from the toilet?"

"You're the one who called me!"

"_Daisuke_!"

"What, am I just not going to answer when my hands are free?"

She gave a groan of protest, rubbing her temple with the back of her yellow mitten. "Oh, just go."

"Just did—,"

Mimi hung up before he could finish the joke, shuddering and suddenly grateful her parents had no other children to torture her with growing up. Slipping the phone back into her purse, she surveyed the large apartment complex across the street, its ground floor divided between a rowdy bar overflowing with patrons looking to warm up on a cold winter night, and a grungy noodle stand that did not appear to be faithfully observing health codes with any particular fervor. If luck were on her side, another snow storm would strike at this exact moment, rendering the ridiculously pathetic notion of going to a housewarming party with no mutual friends beside the one other person who made her—

_No_.

Wrinkling her brow, she yanked the flaps of her wool hat lower over freezing ears, tugged the strap of her purse closer over tense shoulders, and marched across the street, nose in the air. She shuffled her way to the fourth floor of the building, undoing the scarf from her neck after finally reaching the right door. Jaw set determinedly, she pressed the doorbell, stepping back to fix her expression into the most nonchalant and pleasantly self-assured posture she could imagine.

There was no answer.

Confidence waning, she hit the bell again, listening to the chime echo through the paper thin walls. The ringing was met only with silence, and Mimi faltered, checking apartment number. It was the right address, the correct building, the noted night—but where was everyone?

Pulling her mitten off, she knocked on the door, leaning forward to press her ear against it. Confused, she glanced up and down the hallway, then sidestepped her way to the window, behind which she could see the light peering through pale blue curtains. Bending at the waist, she peeked into the sliver of space between the lace draperies—and immediately collided with the wall, tripping face-first, when the elderly woman slowly peeling an ear of corn at the kitchen window caught her gaze and screamed.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Mimi shrieked, stumbling back, face burned scarlet.

There was a low rumbling of laughter behind her, and she spun around, heart was seized with an altogether different kind of panic.

Taichi braced himself against the wall of the building, having emerged from the elevator at the end of the hallway and discovered the scene with unbridled delight. His ears were a dark pink from the cold, matching the slight reds of his cheeks and nose, and he boasted neither coat nor gloves despite the chilly frost. He wore only black denim jeans under a bright green sweater embroidered with a cartoon reindeer, its nose a furry puff of tangled knots that drooped sadly down his chest.

He grinned, fingers slipping into his pockets. "Next time you want to peep at me, remember that my windows are on the right of the door, not the left."

She glowered, embarrassment vanishing the second he had started laughing at her, though she could think of nothing to snap back, which irritated her even more. "Party's over already, is it?"

He thumbed his nose, scratching the tip, sheepish. "Party moved to the bar downstairs. I don't seem to have made much of an impression with my neighbors," he added with a shrug, then winked at her, "and neither have you. Peas in a pod, aren't we?"

"Oh," was all she could think of responding with, and she shifted on her feet, holding her purse in front of her. "Daisuke couldn't make it," she blurted out finally.

"Yeah, he texted me earlier." He pointed back at the elevator. "You're welcome to come down to the bar if you want to stay."

"Of course, I'm staying," she responded at once, and he raised an eyebrow. Panicked, she added, "But not without a tour first." Her hand shot out to gesture with more than the appropriate amount of enthusiasm at his apartment, smacking hard against the door. She stood very still, arm outstretched and mouth open, the shock pouring like a mental balm over any sensation of pain for several long seconds.

"…_Ow_," she whimpered.

"I always knew you were a bit ridiculous."

Before the feeling could return, he had stepped before her, his hands gently cupping her possibly broken one, and what should have been cold was warm, melting through skin and bone and heart. He had enough courtesy not to laugh at her pain, at least not openly. Instead, he tugged on her arm, shaking his head at her the way one would towards a helplessly incompetent child. "Come on, I've got ice in the freezer."

Numb the moment he had touched her, she allowed him to lead her into the darkened apartment, knocking into boxes and bags still piled up in the entrance. He waved her off when she started to remove her boots, citing the general haphazard state of the newly acquired flat as a reason to forgo usual courtesies, and it took much willpower to override the basic gesture, though she was not altogether unhappy about having something else to concentrate on when he still did not let go of her throbbing hand. No, his fingers remained curled tightly around hers even after they had waded to the kitchen, where he used his free hand to dig through the freezer and retrieve a half-pint tub of strawberry ice cream.

"Okay, so no real ice, but this should work," he said, gently positioning her knuckles around the curved tin. "So what do you think of the place?"

She could not restrain herself any longer. "It's not very clean, is it?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Look at it not with your eyes—,"

"…that's actually impossible, you know that, right?"

"—but with your mind's eye." And he gestured around the room in a deeply mystical fashion, letting the last syllable trail off mysteriously.

She followed his indications, doubtful and unimpressed, lips pressed together.

"You don't see it, do you?" he said with disappointment.

"I don't really want to see things from your mind's eye, Taichi."

He bopped her lightly on the nose, resting a calloused thumb on the pointed tip, which seemed to inflame a bright pink under his touch. He did not notice this, or at least was not surprised by it, for he did only tweaked her nose in a small gesture of warning, smirking. She made a face to mask the skipping of a heartbeat that had no business skipping anywhere, then averted her gaze, confused again, the way she always seemed to be these days. Grasping tightly onto reality, she ducked casually away from him, removing the ice cream carton from her now completely numb hand and returning it to the freezer.

"Feeling better?" he asked, dark brown eyes settling on what would likely be a bruise in the morning.

"I'll survive," she promised, "and just long enough to give you your housewarming gift."

He perked up at once, face shining animatedly, and she suppressed a giggle at his childlike response. She produced a small silver package from her purse, thrusting it towards him.

"What's this?"

"Haven't the faintest," she said.

But she was grinning, and he narrowed his eyes, fingers sliding along the edge of the wrapping paper and hooking underneath the sliver of tape securing the shiny blue pieces together. Without breaking his smirking gaze from hers, he tore the paper off, at last lowering his eyes to the rectangular package in his hands.

He shouted in laughter, "Am I really this helpless?"

"About cooking with garlic you are, and I've seen the disaster firsthand." She reached to turn the package over so he could see the pictures on the back, detailing every way the garlic press could be used. "You'll never have to peel garlic on your own again."

"Oh, the possibilities," he said in a dry voice. "There's garlic potatoes—,"

"Garlic beef—,"

"Garlic bread—,"

"Garlic pizza—,"

"Garlic cupcakes," he added, and she balked.

She regarded him with horror. "Maybe I should have included a cookbook."

"When you publish yours, I expect an entire section, just for me. Swear it!"

She signed a cross over her chest. "I swear."

He grinned at her, but for a moment she thought something else passed in his gaze, and his hand moved slightly, fingers stretched towards her. And then they were coursing through his thick hair, and he was rocking back on his heels, setting the garlic press on the counter. "We should head downstairs."

She swallowed an unsettling nervousness and buried her fists in the pockets of her coat. Matching the cheerful casualness of his own voice, she nodded, "I expect they are all anxiously awaiting your return. What were you up here for anyway?"

He snapped his fingers, remembering suddenly. "Aha!" Striding towards a large cardboard box labeled _**poor fashion choices**_, he rummaged through the contents and lifted out an obnoxiously bright yellow sweater, knit with a pattern of what might have been white snowflakes if designed by someone acquainted with the concept of winter. Instead, the shapes grouped together in a strange swirling motif that better resembled a glittery kind of bacteria. Poor fashion choice could not have been associated with a better garment.

Mimi paled. "You didn't actually spend money on that, did you?"

He rolled the sweater tightly, throwing it over his shoulder. "Contain your jealousy, please."

Rolling her eyes, she followed him from the apartment, pulling her hat down around her ears when they stepped back into the cold night. She teased him about the short distance it was from his flat to the bar, and he assured her it was the only requirement he had been looking to fill in his apartment search, wincing in grim agreement when she pointed out that the money he was saving on the lowered rent of the new accommodation would simply be redirected to alcohol. She predicted it would drive him to destitution, but she could not hear his response when he pushed the door to the bar open for her, and she was met with a blast of stereo music at high volume and the raucous laughter of good friends.

The inside of the bar was every bit a disaster area as she had imagined. The floor was sticky, glimmering with icy slosh and spilled liquor, and perhaps other substances she did not care to consider further, and the walls were covered with peeling posters and flyers advertising local eateries and late night shows. Behind the equally dirty bar counter was a large, slanted mirror, stretching across the length of the room, giving the cramped space the illusion of being larger than it was, despite its dim shine. It was so small that it was standing room only, with no tables but counters lining the walls, ripped bar stools positioned haphazardly beside them. An assortment of world beverages lined shelves upon shelves behind the counter, along with instant snapshots of customers over the years, posing for pictures in various degrees of sobriety. Opposite the counter was a shallow stage with a microphone and karaoke machine, and at the far corner was a series of dart boards riddled with holes. Nothing was new, nothing was clean, and everyone was ecstatic to be there.

At first, she could see no one she knew, and she felt her stomach turn unpleasantly as her gaze swept over a room of faces delightedly greeting Taichi's return, all of whom were foreign to her. But then her hazel eyes caught a glimpse of sea blue, and she relaxed, relieved.

Yamato pushed forward through the crowd, weaving a way to the bar and beckoning the pair forward. Mimi grinned, pulling herself up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek in greeting, and he squeezed her arm in response, leaning into her.

Taichi hesitated at their friendly manner, surprised, then pushed himself between them at the counter. "I found her peeping into old lady apartments. Can't say I'm shocked, to be honest."

"She looks like she has a wild streak," agreed Yamato with a smirk, and she swatted a hand at the both of them. "What are you drinking?"

"Oh, not tonight," she protested at once, "I've got an early morning."

"That's more than twelve hours away!" cried Taichi, astonished one would every think so far into the future.

"As impressed as I am about your math skills," said Mimi, "I'm just having soda."

"Spoilsport." Taichi waved over the bartender, a squat, round man with a goatee dyed neon orange, a large skull ornament dangling from his left ear. "Draft beer for me, a fizzy soda for the lady, and make sure it's extra fizzy," he added, making obvious gestures towards the bottles of hard liquor under the counter.

"No fizz," interrupted Mimi, and the bartender retracted his hand, confused.

"Fizzy is the whole point of soda, Mimi."

"Just the soda," repeated Yamato and the bartender obeyed.

Taichi stared at the man, offended. "Why are you listening to him?"

"My tone demands more respect than yours."

"It does," the bartender muttered, handing Mimi her drink. She giggled, slipping a few bills towards him, and he winked at her.

The scowl appeared before he could register its source, and the man had left to attend to another patron before Taichi could think of a retort to steer Mimi away from the attention. It was a bigger task than he anticipated, for moments later another barrel-chested man was weaving his way towards her, knocking Taichi's shoulder roughly as he placed himself forcefully between them. Mimi cheerfully responded to the man's greeting, politely declining the offer for a drink, and when he persisted, Yamato snaked his arm casually around her shoulders, passing the man a reserved glance. She sighed in relief when the stranger finally walked off, and Yamato shook his head, "You're a lot of work, aren't you?"

Mimi clicked her tongue. "I'm the best kind of work," she insisted matter-of-factly, and he laughed.

"Game of darts?" Taichi asked, distracting their attentions from each other.

Yamato craned his neck. "I think I see one open. Order a pitcher, will you? We'll go grab it."

He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and Mimi pushed her way through the throngs, narrowly avoiding a fresh puddle of spilled beer. She pulled off her hat and mittens when they reached the darts board, considering where to place them, until Yamato found a wad of napkins and rubbed off a spot on the counter built into the wall beneath the boards. She shrugged, grinning, and piled her winter outerwear and purse together, already feeling warm under her wool dress and knit stockings.

"How have you been?" she asked, accepting the random grouping of darts he handed her from a little box on the counter.

They stepped back a few paces and he took aim before letting the first dart fly. It landed within the smaller circle, just shy of the smallest, and he sighed. "All right. Work's busy. Last week, we—,"

She shook her head, raising her voice when the group of drunken office workers at the karaoke machine started their rendition of a popular rock ballad. "I don't mean work."

"Ah," he said, blue eyes clouding over at once. He glanced back at the bar, and Mimi followed his gaze. She saw that Taichi had been joined by two young women, a lithe redhead in an off-white turtleneck and light blue jeans, and a beautiful blonde in a tweed skirt and long-sleeved lace top. The latter pulled at the yellow sweater Taichi was still carrying, exclaiming excitedly as she struggled to slip it on, while Taichi made a comment that made the former giggle.

Mimi glanced back at Yamato, who had taken to inspecting the dart tips with unusual dedication.

"Is that her?"

He did not answer, which confirmed it.

She squinted, biting her lip, and shot her first dart, its nose finding a spot abysmally far from the center. She wrinkled her brow, disappointed, then turned her attention to him again. "I'll admit though, I don't think I pegged you for dating blondes."

His smile came unbidden, amused. "No, Sora's in jeans. That's Catherine."

Her mouth parted, but she could not speak for surprise, and she glanced back to the bar. Taichi had stepped forward towards the blonde woman, pulling the sweater over her head and helping her arms through the sleeves. She tugged at the hem, satisfied, and smoothed back her hair, grinning up at him. Her remark made the Sora shriek with laughter, head tossed back, and Taichi pulled a face, nose scrunched.

And then his arms were around her waist, palms resting low on her hip, and when she turned to him with a twinkling glance, he dipped his head into the curve of a slender neck, kissing her shoulder.

"Your turn, Mimi."

Her eyes snapped back to the darts board, breath shallow.

The dart fell short of the mark again, and her hands were shaking when she picked up her soda and took a long sip. Clearing her throat, she smiled kindly at him. "If you want to talk to me all night, I won't complain."

He smirked, sending his next shot a fraction of a measure from the bull's eye. "We're not avoiding each other. We're adults."

"Adults avoid things all the time. That's the best thing about being a grown-up: you can deny anything you want."

He chuckled, blue eyes lingering once more on the trio at the counter. His smile faded when the barrel-chested man appeared again, leaning close towards the Sora, whose face demonstrated no amusement or polite response.

Mimi placed a hand on his arm when he started forward on instinct, and he stopped himself, gritting his teeth. They watched as Sora snapped a retort that made the man scowl and remove himself from her with a snarling glance, to which Taichi responded with a well-deserved hand gesture, his other arm still wrapped low around Catherine's waist. Yamato relaxed only slightly, dropping his gaze, and Mimi took the darts from his hands, setting them back in their box on the counter.

"Jyou says you had a band in school. What do you say we find one of your songs on the karaoke machine?"

"We were never popular enough to get listed in a karaoke box."

"Then a dance?"

Yamato blanched, stunned. "I don't dance," he said, as though this were something she should have known from looking at him.

"Not even when you had your band?"

His blue eyes narrowed. "That's why I was _in_ the band," he said matter-of-factly.

Mimi grinned, stilling the desire to laugh at him. "Okay, then how about another song from the karaoke box? Will you sing one with me?"

He seemed to recoil within himself. "Mimi—,"

Her pale pink lips formed an obnoxious pout, and he immediately averted his gaze, determined not to fall prey.

"Jyou says you were the singer in your band."

"That was years ago."

"And here's another opportunity to—,"

He interrupted her again, "I really would rather—,"

"—prefer an upbeat tempo, something with a little kick, if you would." Takeru tickled the back of his brother's head, and Yamato ducked at once, scowling, fingers smoothing back once perfectly combed hair. The younger blond only winked, unaffected, as usual. He glanced over the rest of the dingy bar, swallowing a large swig from his bottle of pale ale. "This place kind of blows, doesn't it?"

Yamato gave the most imperceptible nod of agreement before remembering his manners. "Mimi, this is my brother Takeru," he introduced gruffly, though she surmised by the tone of voice that he was not too keen on spreading the connection around, not when his younger sibling insisted on messing with his hair in public.

Takeru was already reaching out to shake her hand, a gesture she accepted with friendly enthusiasm.

"Cute runs in the family, does it?" she said, and Takeru whistled, clutching his chest.

"Flattery like that will get you anywhere and everywhere," he said, winking over the top of the bottle as he took another sip. "But I will say, it's nice to finally meet the elusive Mimi. You know, Taichi talks about you all the time."

Her mouth felt dry, and she narrowed her eyes to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. "All bad things, I assume."

"Terrible, horrible things." He poked Yamato in the neck, earning another scowl. "Nothing as terrible and horrible as the absolute nightmare happening in my neighbor's apartment tonight, though." He leaned towards Mimi, lowering his voice. "I live near a trio of sisters, and it's like living a real-life soap opera. I've been watching the youngest juggle these two guys for months now, and I think shit hit the fan today."

Her eyes glinted. "How scandalous!"

Yamato sighed, interrupting in a grave voice, "That's private, Takeru."

"Am I really at fault when it happens right outside my doorstep?"

Mimi laughed, confessing, "I'm not sure I'd be able to resist eavesdropping either."

"I'll keep you posted," he promised, and Yamato opened his mouth to deliver another admonishing lecture, but then a new song began screeching throughout the tiny room, and the bar crowd fell into an uproar of excitement over the catchy tune. Takeru and Mimi glanced at each other when Yamato winced, glaring at the speakers with calculating resentment, and the pair came to a silent understanding.

Takeru finished his beer with a single gulp and Mimi slammed her empty soda glass onto the counter by her coat. They each grabbed an arm, yanking Yamato back into the crowd before he could realize what was happening. He immediately dove for an exit, but Takeru trapped him in the center of the makeshift dance floor, and Mimi circled her arms around his neck, spinning him around.

She raised herself up to speak into his ear, "You can't let your life go on without you."

He grew strangely still, eyes wide, and she smiled at him, hands lightly resting on his forearms. When he did not move, she swayed a little, shimmying her body to the music, and Takeru popped up behind him. "Dance with us!" crooned Mimi over the music, and Takeru started raising and lowering his brother's arms like a robot, while she swayed to a beat that did not match the song blaring around them. They made a ridiculous puppet show for the first few minutes, earning admiring chuckles from their fellow jiving bar patrons, until Yamato broke into a careful, shy smile, shaking his head and resigned to his fate for the night.

Mimi grinned, ducking around him to spin her way towards Takeru, who caught her easily, dipping her back. When he pulled her upright, he whispered, "Thanks."

She squeezed his hand as he spun her back to Yamato. He awkwardly took hold of her arms, and she folded her fingers around his, showing him how to step and move to an imaginary beat, laughing when he repeatedly stubbed the toes of her boots. They danced terribly through several more songs, until his smile became more open and her face was a bright pink from the heat, and they both were forgetting everything else.

But everything came back again the last time he twirled her away, when she reached for Takeru but found Taichi instead. She stumbled to a sudden stop, breathless, and he caught her with both hands, grinning slyly. "I can't believe you got Yamato to dance."

She slipped from his hold, pulling her damp hair back from her neck. "All I did was ask him."

"Just like that?"

In the reflection in the mirror above the bar, she saw Yamato bending over laughing at a silly dance move Takeru was performing, wiggling his arms in what better suited signs of physical distress.

Mimi shrugged her shoulders. "I can do anything," she said in a bossy voice.

"I'm starting to believe it," Taichi confessed, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He held out his hand. "So dance with me."

But she stepped back, and his smile flickered.

"It's getting late," she guessed, imagining it must be.

His arm was still outstretched to her, waiting.

She shook her head, "I'm probably going to head back."

He frowned, confused. "What?" he shouted over the music.

Mimi leaned forward, careful to keep her distance, and repeated herself louder. "I have to get up early for work tomorrow."

He closed the distance between them easily, before she could step further, and his fingers caught hers. "You're leaving?"

She pulled back, trying to walk to the darts boards where her coat and purse still sat. "I should have gone home a lot earlier; Jyou's probably—,"

"One more drink," Taichi interrupted, following her. "I'll even have a soda with you, fizz-free."

Her hesitance confused her, and she tore her gaze away, "All right."

They squeezed around the still jumping crowd and back to the bar counter. Mimi let him order, glancing into the mirror again at a smiling Catherine, her pretty pink face ducked into Sora's arms when she tripped, the pair dissolving into drunken giggles.

"Cheers," Taichi said when he handed her the soda.

"Cheers," she smiled, taking a small sip after they clinked the glasses together. She hesitated, then blurted out with half-hearted conviction, "Daisuke's going to be annoyed he missed meeting your girlfriend."

Taichi rolled his eyes, "He pokes his nose into everything, doesn't he?"

The world seeming to shrink every so much closer when he did not deny who the woman was.

She forced a weak laugh, "Always has, always will." She raised the glass to her lips again, pretending to drink. Then she paused, remembering the ice cream carton in the freezer, flexing her hand instinctively at the memory. "She's turned you into a strawberry convert?"

Taichi made a face, "Trying to. Still not convinced."

"What's with the strawberry hate anyway?"

"Pink should not be a food color."

She paused. "What about cotton candy?"

He stared at her blankly. "Air and sugar are not a food, Mimi."

She stuck out her tongue, and he leaned into her without warning. She tightened her hand around her drink, breathless. He said in a soft voice, "Thanks for earlier, by the way."

She lifted the glass to her mouth, biting the edge lightly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll see first if you have any skill at garlic pressing before—,"

"Not that," he interrupted. "Well, yeah, thanks for that, too, but I meant—," and he stopped, smile nervous, then finished vaguely, "for being there."

She regarded him for a moment, confused, and then her eyes widened ever so slightly.

They had not discussed that morning in the past two months, and she had never heard him bring the subject up since. Normally, Mimi would have pressed an issue that needed closure, believing in verbal healing, but the way he'd looked that day was seared into a dark part of her mind, and she hid it carefully, never revisiting it without due cause. Maybe she was at fault for avoiding tough issues once again, and maybe she was only enabling him by settling right back into the jovial side of life without batting an eye, but that was all she could think of doing until he gave her a sign.

And here it was.

"Oh," she said dumbly, awkward.

He sensed her apprehensive confusion, shifting his balance with a chuckle. "I'm sure I didn't make the best impression that day."

"Not true," she lied immediately, and he rolled his eyes, seeing right through her, the way he always seemed to do. So she corrected herself, pursing her lips. "I mean, sure, it was pathetic, you crawling about the floor, but then, you do pathetic so well."

He knocked into her shoulder, deliberately causing her to trip forward. Her hand shot out to balance herself against the counter, and she threw him a look. He grinned into his soda glass. "Oh, do I?"

"Yes." Straightening herself, she lifted her nose in the air. "Never not be, that's my advice to you."

His smirk still did wonders on her. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do." She set the half-empty glass on the counter, shouldering her purse. "Have a good night, Taichi."

He placed his own glass beside hers, then reached out to tug her hat low about her ears, fingers brushing her neck as he drew his hands away, lingering where he should not have lingered. "You, too, Mimi."

She walked to the subway with her hands over the sides of her hat, fingers pressed against the tops of her ears and palms resting against the curve of her neck. She shivered, breathing deeply, then shook her head and picked up her pace, catching the last train heading home with seconds to spare.

Her apartment was warm and toasty when she stepped through the doorway, shaking the fresh snow from her boots on the mat just outside the entrance. She pulled off her coat and scarf, covering her mouth when she yawned. She crept into the hallway, tiptoeing around the corner, and then stopped when she saw him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

"You're awake," she said, surprised. "I thought you were going to sleep until your shift. Isn't it in a couple hours?"

"I couldn't sleep," he answered, audibly exhausted. He glanced up at her, rubbing a finger over his lips. "How was the party?"

"Oh, fine," she shrugged. "We went to this bar at the ground level of Taichi's new building. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and I was terrible at playing darts. If Daisuke had been there, I think we could have teamed up and won."

He raised his chin, voice low. "Daisuke didn't go with you?"

She shook her head, stretching her arms over her head. "But Yamato was there. I met his brother, too. We had to keep him distracted all night because I think Yamato's ex-girlfriend was there with—and you'll never believe this—Catherine."

Jyou looked away again. "Mimi, you know I don't know these people."

She waved him off, impatient. "I told you about Catherine and Taichi. I thought it was just a few ill-timed dates, but I guess they must have had more. She's even gotten him to try strawberry ice cream. It's so ridiculous. Men will do anything, won't they, to keep a girl around? I mean, he doesn't even _like_ strawberry ice cream."

Jyou leaned forward, pushing his glasses up with his thumbs, forefingers pressed into the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to talk about him right now."

She did not hear the coldness in his voice, tossing her hair back into a ponytail and pinching her cheeks to warm up her face. "I'm not talking about him, I'm talking about how stupid it is that he's pretending to—," and she turned around, speech faltering when she saw the tired, tense slouch of his shoulders. Her eyes settled carefully, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. "What's wrong?"

He did not look at her, hand still rubbing his face slowly. "Do you remember what you were supposed to do today?"

She opened her mouth to quiz him on the strange question, and she saw the laptop on the coffee table before him. Her eyes flashed with sudden understanding. "You read my mail."

"You left it open on—,"

"No," she interrupted angrily, "that's not an excuse. You have no right to look through my mail!"

He clenched his fist on his knee, "No, I don't, and I'm sorry for crossing that line. But I do have the right to care about what you do with your future. Repeatedly blowing off an opportunity to work with a chef in a restaurant is—," he struggled with the words, "—don't you see how foolish you're being?"

Her face paled, and she stepped back several paces.

Jyou leaned forward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned his face towards her, keeping his voice even. "Why won't you meet with him for the interview?"

"Because I—," and she sucked in her breath, head pounding, "I wasn't ready."

"You've been talking about doing something like this for years."

"It's completely out of my field of experience."

"That's why the interview was for an apprenticeship, to learn—,"

"I changed my mind—,"

"_Mimi_."

"I did!"

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not—I—Jyou, just drop it!"

"You won't be able to get anywhere if you let your fear—,"

She clapped her hands over her ears, shaking her head furiously. "I do not want another lecture, I really don't. It's been a really long night, and I just—I want to go to bed now."

"Mimi, how am I supposed to be able to support you if you don—?"

Her fingers tugged at her hair, face red. "I don't want your support, Jyou!" she shouted back, temper beating her. "So just stop!"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Stop?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. "I don't want to talk about this."

And it spilled from his lips before he could think, because he had been fearing it for weeks. "But you're fine talking about him."

Her eyes squeezed shut. "Don't do that."

Jyou pulled the glasses from his face, folding them in his hands. He spoke slowly, "The email said that it was his third time rescheduling, and you still haven't followed up with him. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about you!" she said suddenly, and his gaze snapped up, mouth parted. "I'm thinking about how everything is a plan for you, everything's laid out and how I'm not—how I can't—I hate how you try to make me into something that fits you better!"

He blinked quickly, voice tight. "You think I'm trying to fix you?"

"Of course, you are!" She could not see for the furious tears in her eyes, but she blinked them back, teeth clenched. "It's not easy being your girlfriend, you know!"

He seemed to sink into himself, his expression a perfect blank canvas. "Oh."

The walls caved around them, and her face crumbled, "I didn't mean that."

His voice was soft, and the remorse in his tone shattered her heart. "I didn't realize it was so difficult for you."

"That's not what I meant," she repeated, because she was not able to say anything else. When he did not respond, she whispered, "Jyou, look at me." He did not, bending over at the waist, staring at the floor. So she flew to him, sinking to the ground at his feet, one arm over his knees and the other outstretched to cup his face.

But he flinched when she touched him, pushing her hands away and rising to his feet, fumblingly returning the eyeglasses to his face.

"Jyou…," she called again, panic swelling in her ears.

"If it was so hard, you should have said so."

"It's not!" She scrambled to her feet, heaving, and he still would not look at her. "It's just—sometimes I'd feel like I wasn't enoug—but it's nothing to do with you—,"

He raised his chin finally, and the watery quality of his gaze froze the words in her throat. "I think it does."

He turned from her then, and she stared at his mechanic movements around the room, collecting his wallet and coat.

"Where are you going?" she whispered, terrified.

"I'm giving us space. That's what you want, isn't it?"

She opened her mouth to deny it at once, but nothing came, and she felt the cold sweeping through every inch of her skin, like she would never be warm again.

She shattered at his next words.

"For the record, Mimi, you are always enough."

She could hear nothing after that, not the sound of her shallow breathing, not the steps his feet, not the last thing he said to her in a whisper, hesitating just before he left—she heard none of this, only the final click of the door when the lock shut.

It was then that her legs gave away.

She fell hard, clutching her chest, trying to make her heart work again. It gave a shuddering tremble, leaping to life, and she scrambled blindly for her phone. Her fingers found the number without her having to look, and she struggled to breathe, hand pressed over her shaking mouth. She bent over with the phone to her ear, forehead to the floor.

"Mimi?"

And her sob was of the violent kind. "Can you come over?"


	13. You And Me, We've Both Got Sins

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note**: I have no excuse for the nearly month-long silence on this story except that school is hard. Thanks for keeping up with it and keeping me accountable for continuing! I really do like writing it and I have lots of plans still, so don't worry about it getting done. It will be finished. Nothing is without a reason in this story, so that's all the hints you get in terms of where the plot is heading. I hope you stay tuned! This chapter is still in our dark "Part Two" arc, though we finally see a bit of a turning point for one of our leads. The point being: realizations are not easy, but they're extremely easy to deny. As always, thanks for reading.

* * *

_You and me, we've both got sins_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Takeru watched as his friend sank to a crouch in front of the refrigerated drink section of the convenience store, pink nose wrinkled with grumbling annoyance. "So this is how we're spending the holidays?"

"Yes," answered Taichi. "This is what friends are for, and this is what friends do."

"He's not _my_ friend," the younger blond grumbled, sniffing.

"Then by all means, Takaishi, go find your own friends and hang out with them."

He paused for a long moment, as though seriously considering the permission to leave, and the lingering silence caused Taichi to crane his neck back with a resentful scowl, glaring up at the tall man behind him. "Are you actually thinking about it?"

Takeru laughed, "I'm not abandoning you yet." His grin faltered at once when Taichi stood at last, and his blue eyes settled on the brand of drinks the latter held in his arms. "Chocolate milk?"

"It's what he asked for," answered Taichi simply, as though such requests were common for adult men to make in times of emotional crises.

The writer shook his head with exaggerated displeasure at what his night was turning into, but nonetheless followed his friend to the counter and then out the doors, trudging into the cold winter evening. It was at a corner a few blocks north that they encountered the third member of that night's misery party, his pale face a stark white and dotted with red circles at the tip of his long nose and the tops of his ears. In spite of this, Yamato still looked _cool_ rather than _cold_, though Taichi imagined he had to have been under only a wool blue scarf, leather jacket, and dark denim pants. But the tall blond did not even appear to have realized winter had arrived. As usual, he was calm and collected in the ruthlessly freezing environment, shifting on his feet not because he was hoping to keep warm by constantly moving, but because he was still mildly annoyed at having waited longer than he'd planned for them.

"It's only a few streets up," said Taichi, but neither brother was appeased by the promise of warmth soon.

"The next time you invite us out for a 'night of fun'," said Takeru, ridiculing the description, "don't."

"It will be fun," insisted Taichi. "You guys like Daisuke."

"That remains to be seen," remarked Yamato dryly.

"Look, all I know is that he was interested in this girl and got turned down," said Taichi, recalling the sequence of miserable texts he'd received from the chef that sparked the plans for the entire night thus far. He hadn't pried into the reasoning, figuring it had something to do with why Daisuke hadn't showed at his housewarming party a few days earlier, but he didn't need to know the whole story to be a good support network, not after all that Daisuke had done for him when they'd barely known each other before. "He's been having a rough couple of days. We've just got to try to distract him from doing anything stupid, like crawling back to her—,"

"I can hear you guys."

The trio stopped, confusion interrupting their arguing. Yamato's head swiveled up, and he pointed to the ledge of a billboard tower looming from the rooftop of a closed bowling alley. Daisuke was perched on the side with his legs dangling over the edge, arms draped over the single railing that stood between him and sudden death from the roof. He appeared perfectly content and unusually suited for the unexpected environment, and Taichi suspected it was not the first time the young chef spent time up there. He squinted now though, mouth open. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I wanted to be outside," answered Daisuke as though it were entirely logical to desire such a thing in the dead of winter. "Come on," he called, waving them up.

Takeru, whose opinion of the evening magically improved after the opportunity to add a little reckless danger to the mix, eagerly started for the metal ladder at the side of the building, hoisting himself up with surprising dexterity.

Yamato and Taichi, meanwhile, exchanged looks.

"Okay, next time you can choose the venue," said Taichi weakly.

Yamato shook his head. "Let's just get this over with."

The climb turned out to be quiet easy, which Taichi was secretly grateful for, having never developed much of an affection for heights. He scooted over on the ledge between Daisuke and Yamato, who took the place next to Takeru. Between the four of them, they made for a grumpy line of men along the bottom of the giant billboard.

"Milk," said Daisuke, and the cartons were passed down to each, Yamato doing nothing to hide his displeasure anymore and Takeru resigned to mildly vexed amusement, the view from the rooftop making up for the beverage selection.

"I'm going to assume," said Yamato, cracking up the mouth of his milk carton, "that this is part of some symbolic coping mechanism."

Daisuke, who'd already started drinking, wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "My mom always said chocolate milk makes everything better."

"And what is everything, exactly?" asked Takeru, not shying away from the reason they had all gathered that night. "Is this about the girl who dumped you for the other guy? Because I can think of a lot worse things than that, and they'd all require much more than chocolate milk to get over."

"I don't think the point of tonight should be comparing our woes," interrupted Taichi. He paused, "Because clearly, I would win."

"Says who?" demanded Daisuke

"Fine. You get left at the altar, and then you can win."

"Oh, sure," shot back Daisuke, "pull that card and win every time. Real mature of you."

"Well, this is turning out to be quite an inspiring gathering," said Takeru cheerfully.

"How is competing about this topic supposed to help anyone feel better?" asked Yamato.

His brother's cheer faded to confusion. "We're here to make him feel better?"

Daisuke pouted. "Like you've never been there," he muttered resentfully. "I'm pretty sure we've all been losers in this department, at least once."

"Well," Takeru cleared his throat, nonchalant, "_technically_, I've never been dumped. So it sounds like you three are the losers, not me. I've got the perfect record."

"And your last steady relationship was when?" asked Yamato, voice cool.

His brother hesitated, calculating quickly in his head and blanching at the outcome. "All right, fine. But on the grand scale of pathetic-ness, I'm best ranked. All hail."

They raised their milk cartons instinctively, with no enthusiasm. "Cheers."

Silence settled in the moment after, and Taichi leaned forward against the railing, chin propped up on his palm. The cityscape was sprawled before them, the street and building lights twinkling against the dark night. He could hear the sounds of traffic below them, though their particular road was not frequented by many travelers. In fact it was relatively peaceful from their perspective, and he could see why Daisuke would come here if he did often, as he imagined the man must. He would, if he could. It was a good place to think.

Takeru, however, had other thoughts in mind completely. "The way to get over it is to just find someone else. You know who's cute?" he asked rhetorically, head tilted to the side. "Your boss."

Taichi glanced at him, growing still, saying nothing, and Yamato rolled his eyes.

Daisuke craned his neck, "Mimi?"

"Sure. You don't think so?"

"She's like my sister."

Yamato hesitated, recalling previous conversations. "Don't you already have a sister?"

"Yeah, which is why it would be weird. It's like incest."

Takeru raised an eyebrow. "So you _have_ thought about it."

"Wait—are we talking about Daisuke thinking about his boss or his sister?"

"I guess both."

Daisuke let out a strangled choke.

Taichi shook his head, disapproving, and joined in the conversation when he thought it was safe enough yet. "That's pretty weird of you, Daisuke."

"But I—?"

Takeru was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Has anyone else noticed that he still hasn't denied either fantasy?"

"The _fuck_—?"

And Yamato interrupted with saving grace, "Someone change the subject before he has an aneurysm."

"She's got that boyfriend though," remarked Takeru sadly.

Daisuke shrugged. "Not really. She and Jyou had a big fight. I think they went on a break."

Taichi kept still, staring at his hands as he processed the unexpected news with wide eyes, and Yamato paused, lowering his hands to his lap. "That's not really like them."

"Tell me about it. But I guess it was one of those fights that's a long time coming. He was upset she wasn't following through with her apprenticeship opportunity, and she thought he was trying to fix her because she wasn't ambitious enough. It's all a mess. Anyway," he added after a moment, "she hasn't been in the shop for a couple days now. I've been taking care of things there, but I haven't spoken to her much since she first told me what happened."

Taichi turned the milk carton over in his hands, picking at the sales sticker with a twitchy forefinger. He kept his tone casual. "Is she all right?"

Daisuke started to shrug, then he shook his head slowly. "Probably not."

Yamato raised a curious eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be going to see how she is?"

"Should I come, too?" volunteered Takeru, perking up at the thought of comforting a despondent yet beautiful young woman.

But Daisuke shook his head again, the scowl growing on his face. "No. She called Michael over after her fight with Jyou. She's been talking to him ever since."

Yamato reached for another carton of milk as his younger brother questioned, puzzled, "Who's Michael?"

He sighed loudly, face scrunched. "You know how some people have that one person who knows them real well, trusts them with everything, even though they can also go months or years without meeting? But whenever they do call them, they're always there? That's what Michael is to Mimi." His grimace darkened, casting his expression into the realm of possessed demonic rage. "I hate him."

"Because he's your rival for being her confidante?" summarized Yamato perfectly, reading between the lines of the young chef's vocalized resentment with exacting accuracy.

Daisuke glowered, refusing to admit that he had been figured out so well and so easily. "_No_," he exaggerated, "because he just sucks. He's a sucky sucking sucker."

"There's no need to censor yourself," said Takeru.

He did not hear the joke, staring at the drink in his hands. The frustration in his voice spoke to a lot more disappointment than he would ever admit, settling on the first outburst that came to mind, "I hate losing to pretty boys."

Speaking at last after a silence the others had not realized he'd fallen into, Taichi recovered his good-natured humor and attempted a sympathetic pat on the younger man's shoulder. "You're pretty, too, Daisuke."

"Like a picture," offered Takeru, while Yamato's contribution to the cheering-up-fest was refraining from rolling his eyes too obviously.

Daisuke shrugged them all off. "Whatever. I'm used to it."

Taichi glanced at him, the matter-of-fact tone striking his ears as one that was all too familiar. The younger man was slurping the last of his third carton, contended and kicking the wall with the back of his scuffed sneakers, but the slouch in his shoulders told more than the nonchalant ease with which he tried to pass it off. Taichi looked away, raising the straw to his lips and taking a sip. "Well, Dais, if I were a woman—,"

The man groaned, knocking his head back with a sigh. "Please don't do that. That makes it worse—and creepy."

"Fine. Then if I were gay, you would be on my list."

Daisuke peeked out of an eye, appraising him. "Where on the list?"

"After me," said Yamato with cool confidence, eyes closed. "Way, way after."

"How's that fair?" pouted the surly chef, discovering a new thing to be wounded over.

Takeru looked meditative. "If I'm on the list, too, does that make us all incestuous?"

Taichi's eyebrow twitched. "Everyone knows the list is not real, right?"

The younger men dissolved into protests, remarks hurling back and forth between them so quickly that Taichi had trouble keeping track of who was speaking to whom, though it was certainly not directed at either himself or Yamato (who remained inattentive with his eyes firmly shut, perhaps to wish away the entire conversation before him).

"Why's it not real?"

"Why can't it be real?"

"Where am I on _your_ list?"

"I don't even know you well enough to put you on my list!"

"I'm blond and adorable. What else is there to know?"

Yamato interrupted at last, "I think the list metaphor's been done. Let's not run the original sentiment completely into the ground."

Taichi straightened, preening. "You liked my metaphor? That's a first."

"You were bound to get lucky at least once."

"Very funny," said Taichi, sticking out his tongue childishly. "You still admit that you think something I said has character-building value."

"You'll never be able to prove it."

"I will. I'm gonna write it down, put it in my sock drawer, keep it for all eternity as a loving reminder."

Takeru was laughing, "Do you even own more than two pairs of socks?"

"It's an expression. That's where men keep their cherished keepsakes, after all."

"In a sock drawer?"

Daisuke looked confused. "I don't do that." Then he corrected himself quickly, "Well, I mean I kept the purple bracelet I'd bought in my closet for a few weeks before I finally worked up the nerve to give it to her, but it wasn't a sock drawer." His face fell again, reminding himself of this sad fact of the recent days. "Gave it to her right before she picked the other guy, too. Great timing, isn't it?"

"Maybe the sock drawer would have helped with the luckiness," said Takeru, shrugging. "I've never had one, but I've never really given girls jewelry so I don't need one to keep said jewelry in. But you've got one, don't you, Yamato?"

"Yeah, that's where he kept the—," and Taichi stopped suddenly, horrified. "Ah, shit." He winced, guilty gaze avoiding his best friend's, whose cool blue eyes seemed to grow darker.

Yamato stared at him hard, speaking into the mouth of the carton quietly, "So you know."

Taichi didn't confirm it, shifting uncomfortably, and Yamato looked away. "She told you?"

Again, he did not respond, but Yamato did not need him to. "So that's why."

"No," said Taichi at once, recovering from his mistake. "That's not it."

It was Yamato's turn to say nothing, his hands curling into fists on his knees, as Takeru and Daisuke glanced at each other warily.

Then Yamato stood, "Thanks for the invite, Daisuke."

Taichi sighed, "Wait a minute—,"

"I don't have anything to say to you," he interrupted at once, turning his back before Taichi could reply.

He slammed his carton down beside Daisuke, leaving the younger men on the rooftop as he climbed down after tall blond. Yamato had already taken several steps down the street, crossing the road, by the time Taichi caught up with him, grabbing his elbow. "Will you stop being dramatic for one second and let me explain?"

"No," said Yamato suddenly, yanking back, "you can explain to me why she has no trouble talking to everyone about this except me."

Taichi gestured in exasperation. "I'm just really approachable."

"Forget it," the man hissed, turning away.

"Wait, come on." Taichi fell into step beside him, not trying to get him to stop, but only moving to keep up with his angry strides. "Listen, there's a lot more about—about what's going with her reasons than just you."

Yamato stopped at last. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't tell you," he said, regretting it. "You've just got to trust me on this."

He shook his head slowly, fingers coursing through thick blond bangs. "I hate not knowing why."

Taichi smiled, taking a step back. "I'm familiar with the feeling," he said. "But in your case, maybe there's still the chance of finding out the 'why,' as you say. You just need to trust her to tell you when she's ready."

His hand cast over his pale face, thumb brushing his bottom lip.

Taichi nodded back in the direction where the others still waited. "We can make a game out of the guessing at least."

But Yamato only shrugged, smiling a little this time. "I think I'm just going to go home."

"You sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Taichi hesitated. "You're not going to call her, are you? Should I punch you, just in case? I feel like I owe you one of these kinds of punches."

"I'll see you later, Tai," said Yamato, rolling his eyes.

He lingered at the corner, watching Yamato to disappear across the street. As soon as he had, Taichi turned on his heels, hand shooting out to wave down the nearest taxi. He pulled out his phone after climbing into the back of the cab, flipping on the screen light. It illuminated the most recent message, and his fingers hesitated over the keypad. Then he turned the phone on silent, slipping it back into his pocket, leaving Catherine's text unanswered.

He was debating the stupidity of his impulse actions the entire ride up the elevator to her floor. His mind was a complete blank, and he assumed he'd know what to say, knew how he'd explain away his reason for being there, when he saw her. But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, he heard anxious footsteps thundering towards the door, the lock unclick and the knob turn. She was wearing fleece pajama pants and matching peach tank under a frilly apron. Her hair had been teased out into a nest of tangled, frizzy knots, and her face was blotchy with puffed and swollen hazel eyes. She was holding a wooden spoon dripping batter in one hand, the other braced against the doorpost.

"Oh," she said dumbly, crestfallen. "I thought you were Jyou."

He hesitated, "No."

She chewed her lip. "Daisuke tell you then, what happened?"

He shuffled his feet. "Yes."

She opened her mouth, but then pressed her lips together in a tight line. "Fine," she said, and turned on her heels to scurry back to the kitchen, leaving him at the entrance.

Recovering, Taichi quickly stepped into the flat, shutting out the cold night behind him.

It was not the first time he had been there, but it was the first time he'd come alone, and seen her alone. The air smelled of baked chocolate and moist cake batter, and in the background was the crooning vocals of a melancholic female singer. It was toasty warm, perhaps a little too much so, but he accounted the increased temperature to the fact that she had appeared to have been baking non-stop for several hours, the oven's warm glow heating up the rest of the small flat.

Still feeling hesitant, he peered around the corner of the hallway, glimpsing her moving about the kitchen on the other end of the living room.

"Got a bake sale coming up?" he questioned, dark brown eyes scanning the rows upon rows of cupcakes, scones, muffins, and other cakes of all shapes and sizes that covered every inch of available surface.

She did not appear to hear him, or at least ignored him, so he came closer, staring in awe at the amount of food he passed along the way.

"I just needed something to pass the time," she said. "You know, until Jyou comes back and we—and we have our talk. He told me to wait until he had some time to think, so that's what I'm doing. I'm waiting."

"Ah," said Taichi, unsure. "And did he mention he was hungry, low-blood sugar or anything?"

"I'm trying out a few new recipes." She pointed to the pad of paper on the edge of the kitchen counter, where her scribbles and measurements had been crossed out, circled, and underlined in various degrees of success and failure with each culinary experiment.

He glanced at the piles of dirty bowls and utensils in a tower in the sink. "Wouldn't it be easier to try that out at the catering shop? You could make your part-time staff do all the cleaning. Koushiro and I could taste test. We wouldn't even sue you if it turned out to be food poisoning." He paused, "Well, maybe I would, if I could get a really good deal. Nothing personal."

But she shook her head, annoyed. "I can't leave," she stressed again. "I have to stay here." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "If I stay here, I'll see him, because he has to come back. If I went to the shop, I'd miss him. I have to be here, so I don't miss him."

Taichi held his tongue, allowing her slightly flawed logic to go untouched, as something he had learned not to do from the other people in his life. "Sounds about right."

She looked pleased, and he wondered if he was the first of her friends to agree that she hadn't lost her mind.

"But," he went on, because he had to bring her to reality in some gentle way, "I think he'd be able to find you wherever you were. He's pretty smart." He tried to think of another compliment, "Like a really…good dog."

At last, Mimi raised her chin, staring at him.

"You know," he added, uncomfortable, "because he can find things."

She blinked, seeming to realize suddenly and at once who he was. She appeared startled. "What are you doing here?"

He gestured wordlessly to the door, "I just—you _just_ let me in—,"

She waved his confusion off. "I thought you and Daisuke you were having a boys' night out?" She paused, pouting a little, "He's been all about those recently, and he won't tell me what's happened."

"Nothing happened," he interrupted at once and a little too quickly, earning him another one of her suspicious looks. "Guys just need nights out." His gaze lingered on her ratty mess of hair. "Maybe you do, too, you know."

"I told you, I can't leave," she said, stubborn, and he rolled his eyes. She refused to listen to his logic again, returning to the large bowl on the counter and spooning lumps of dough onto a cookie sheet. "And you tell Daisuke to stop complaining to you about it. It's only been a couple of days. He's running the shop just fine."

"That's the point, Mimi." Taichi shook his head. "It's not his job to run the store. It's yours, together. You can't leave everything to him without—,"

"Don't tell me how to run my business, Taichi."

"I'm not trying to," he protested, agreeing with her at once, "and I don't need to. But neither can Daisuke without you." She kept her back to him, furiously scooping out the last of the batter and sliding the baking sheet into the hot oven. He approached her carefully as she set the timer, pausing at her elbow, and when he placed a careful hand on her shoulder, she did not brush him off. "You think I don't know what this feels like?"

"Everyone knows what it feels like," she said quietly, "but that doesn't mean everyone understands _this_."

He let her go. "What happened?"

She scrubbed at her cheeks, smearing a little bit of cookie batter onto her jaw. "I said some really terrible things to him."

He reached out to flick the specks of batter from her skin. "People say terrible things when they argue. He knows you didn't mean it."

Mimi's eyes filled up with tears. "That's the thing, though. I think he knows I did."

He couldn't say anything in response, and she pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. He felt his chest tighten, watching her crumble to a crouch on the tiled floor, and the desire to touch her was overwhelming.

He stood awkwardly over her. "What can I do?" he asked, because for once he was afraid to guess wrong.

She shrugged, heaving. "You could sit with me."

"Okay," he agreed, but he did not move.

So she reached up and pulled on his arm, forcing him down into the space beside her. She led his hand up and around her shoulders, lacing her fingers through his, then sank to the kitchen floor, curled on her side over his forearm. He laid awkwardly behind her, holding his breath, her head tucked neatly into the space under his chin.

She turned her face into his arm, speech muffled. "Closer," she said.

"Okay." And he slowly closed the distance between them.

"Closer."

Her voice was lonely and empty, and his throat seemed to close at the sound.

"Okay," he whispered back.

She fell silent, and he hesitated. Her uncombed hair tickled his nose, his cheeks warming to a pale crimson. His free hand stretched carefully to her temple, tucking stray strands behind her ear. His thumb travelled across the curve of her cheekbone, skirting across soft skin, tracing every line, settling into the dimple under her trembling lip.

She moved suddenly, and his fingers were caught in her hair when she rolled over and looked up at him. "He's going to come back." It wasn't a statement and it wasn't a question; it was a prayer, and she looked miserable.

His thumb pressed deeper into the dimple under her lip, tugging at the skin with a teasing grin. "He'd be an idiot not to," he said, "and he never really struck me as the idiotic type."

Her voice was anxious. "You promise?"

His smile was kind. "I promise."

She rolled back on her side, still clutching his arm to her stomach, and his smile faded.

Sucking in his breath, he shook the confusion from his clouded head and tried to ease quietly back from her, debating how to approach the situation with delicacy (something he had never been accused of possessing). He channeled Yamato, but came up with the sudden urge to buy socks, and so abandoned that tactic. He considered Hikari's response, but the conversation about Daisuke and his sister resurrected itself from the back of his mind like an ominous warning and he quickly moved on, suppressing a shudder, and settled at last on Sora.

So he gave Mimi an awkward pat on the top of her head at the same time that he tried to wiggle free, overly confident in his ability to be soothing when in reality the gesture was by all accounts too forceful.

"Ow," she mumbled, but he did not hear this, his palm continuing to strike her temple the way a fat-handed giant would an elderly pet.

His platitudes were embarrassingly transparent. "Don't worry about it right now. Just get some rest."

"How am I supposed to rest when you keep hitting me?" she grunted. She flopped away and over onto her stomach but made no effort to right herself, still sprawled on the kitchen floor.

"Those were sympathy pats," said Taichi crossly, miffed. He flexed his other arm carefully, trying to shake the feeling back. "Besides, you were the one lying on top of me like a dead antelope."

She gave a snort of indignant anger. "That's rude. Don't you know how much an antelope weighs?"

"I do now."

"I am not that heavy!"

"It's a compliment!"

"_How_?"

Taichi did expect her to have stuck with the topic this long, and he scrambled. "Healthy girls are attractive!"

"Oh, forget it," she hissed, interrupting him. She turned her head so her face pressed directly into the tiled floor of the kitchen, hands curled underneath her chest. "Just leave me alone," she said into the ground.

In spite of himself, he smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Your weird, sick fetish for drama is not as endearing as you think it is."

"I'm not being dramatic," she pouted.

"Come on," he said, rolling his eyes at how much she could behave like a petulant Yamato. He placed his hands on either of her shoulders, lifting her easily into the sitting position. She allowed him, whimpering a little in protest, but remained upright this time. "Is this how you want him to find you, lying like a codfish on the floor?"

"Yes," but she shook her head.

"Really?"

"Well, how else should he find me?"

Taichi rubbed her shoulders. "How about at your apprenticeship?"

She immediately stiffened, muscles tense, but he did not remove his hands. He could almost hear her scowl. "Not you, too."

"Yes, me, too. You can't keep ducking away from the real issue, Mimi."

Her sarcasm was venomous. "And you don't?"

He shook her shoulders a little, her head bobbing back and forth in what could have been a comical way if she weren't radiating such murderous energy. "The next time I almost lose the best thing in my life, we can fight about what I do or don't do."

She sank into him, head bent low. "I did lose it. I am losing him."

Taichi pulled her closer. "No, you didn't. It's not always a bad thing, taking a break, and it doesn't mean everything's over. After you've both had time to think, it'll be easier to talk." His fingers tugged at the ends of her knotted hair. "But I don't think it would hurt to run a comb through this before he sees you." His thumb got caught in a tangle, and her neck was yanked back. "Seriously, when was the last time you took a brush to this?" he asked in disbelief, trying to wiggle his hand free, her head jerking around painfully with every shake.

"Stop trying to help!" cried Mimi, "You're just making things worse—_ow_!"

"Don't blame me for the bird's nest on top of your head."

"And what the hell is on top of yours?"

"Hey," he said viciously, offended, "my hair is always excellent. You're just jealous."

She snorted, finally yanking his fingers loose from her tangles. "Of what? That?" And she plopped her hand on the top of his head with little ceremony, burying her fingers in thick brown curls. She paused, "Oh, wow, it is soft."

He sat back, vindicated, and she moved with him, rubbing at his hair a little too aggressively, fingers turning over every wisp and curl in a way that made him feel intoxicated. "It's my conditioner."

"Made of what? Unicorn tears?" She gasped, "My God, though, we should be killing all the unicorns if this is how nice their tears feel."

"I've always thought so." He cocked an eyebrow, amused. "My head is not a magic lamp, Mimi. You can stop rubbing."

But she didn't, and he rather thought he didn't mind, all joking aside.

"It's like a teddy bear," she gushed, voice soft.

"I was going for ruggedly suave, but teddy bear is all right, too, I guess—why is that funny?"

She had stopped, removing her hand as she dissolved into giggles. "What on earth is rugged about you?"

"Right, like you're the expert," he said, inexplicably a little hurt by the idea that she didn't think the adjective fit him, but strangely a lot more upset when her touch left his skin. "You're dating a doctor."

"Jyou is very rugged."

He blanched. "I'm sorry, what dictionary are you using?"

"And he deserves a lot more than me, doesn't he?" She sounded tired, drained from the experience of the last few days.

"Don't say that. You're rugged, too." Taichi lifted her chin with a finger, smiling lightly when her gaze met his. "Listen, this whole thing is going to blow over. You two will get back together, and you'll build your lives dictionary-free."

Her smile was watery, but she did not start crying again, only chuckling a little, with a laugh like bells. She was calmer now, and he knew he should let go, but he couldn't. He was close enough to see every color in her hazel eyes, and he was sure she could see right through him. He hadn't felt this transparent in a long time. He didn't pull away, and she didn't push him back, and the line that friends weren't supposed to cross was coming up all too fast.

She blinked, breath shallow. "Thanks for sitting with me," she whispered.

He gently rested his forehead against hers. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

The front door slammed, and they froze.

Taichi felt the blood rushing to his head at the same time all other sensations seemed to leave him, but when he looked up, it was not the pair of eyeglasses he expected staring back at him in shock.

"Miyako," gasped Mimi, her face red.

"He's not Michael," observed the young woman, bypassing greetings. "I thought you said Michael was coming over again tonight." She gestured to the bottle of white wine she carried, "I brought refreshments." Then she paused, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?"

Mimi lurched from Taichi's arms with a strangled cry, diving for the oven. The door fell open just as smoke came billowing out, filling up the small kitchen. Taichi struggled blindly to his feet, coughing, while Mimi's wails of frustration at her burned cookies sounded throughout the apartment. "Now I have to start over!"

"Why is he here, Mimi?" Miyako asked over her friend's exaggerated grumbling, but was ignored completely, as Mimi busied herself with clearing off the cookie tray and beginning the recipe again. She kept her gaze from either of them, busily reaching for the carton of eggs and muttering to herself.

So it was left to Taichi to answer, and Miyako turned her gaze towards him expectantly.

In the months he'd gotten to know Mimi, Taichi had only encountered her younger ex-neighbor a few times. She was an opinionated, excitable woman who seemed nice enough on the whole, but had a tendency to frighten him with her enthusiasm at times. That, and Taichi had always entertained the nagging belief that she didn't really like him very much. The sneaking suspicion was practically carved in stone now, as she eyed him through rounded spectacles, as though he couldn't possibly be up to any good in Mimi's apartment alone with her.

Uninterested in creating conflict, he coughed, "Well, anyway, maybe I should be—I should go."

Miyako did not hesitate. "Yes, you should."

He felt his face warm up at the implication, but any defense he could make was stuck in the back of a dry throat. So he straightened, stiff and suddenly very conscious of how gangly he could be when his confidence withered away. He shook down the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them over his palms, using the time it took to glance back at Mimi. She was furiously stirring the batter in the bowl again, concentration distracted, but he thought she was purposely not looking at him with Miyako in the room.

So he started towards the door, resigned to keep silent, until he passed the tall young woman in the hallway, and his eyes fell on the purple bracelet she wore as she lifted her hand to straighten her spectacles.

He stopped at once.

"What?" asked Miyako, eyeing his gaping expression with slight alarm.

"You're Miyako," said Taichi, astonished.

"…Yes," she confirmed after a hesitant moment, wondering if Mimi only enjoyed befriending exceptionally slow people. "We have met before, you know."

Taichi repeated himself. "But you're—you—you're _Daisuke's_ Miyako."

Her mouth parted, face drained of color, and Mimi finally glanced up from the kitchen counter. "What's going on?"

Taichi started to answer, then yelped in pain when Miyako's foot shot out and smacked into his knee with the devastating precision of a martial artist. He lurched backwards, tripping over the shoe rack by the door and collapsing against the wall, knocking over the coatrack stand.

"What on earth—?"cried Mimi, jumping at the sudden noise, but before she could come into the living room, Miyako had leapt forward, yanking a bewildered Taichi back to his feet and throwing him into the outside hallway, hurtling herself after him. "Where are you two—?"

The door slammed shut, cutting her off.

Taichi backed away at once, rubbing his knee. "Listen, I didn't—," he stammered out as a protest when she advanced upon him threateningly.

"What do you know?" she interrupted, fists clenched.

His back collided with the balcony as he ran out of escape options. His voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "If I tell you, are you going to throw me over the railing?"

Miyako stared. "What are you talking about?"

"You're just—you're really scary," he said, swallowing hard.

But she hadn't been listening, her thoughts moving quickly. She chewed her lip anxiously, pulling on the bracelet. "Daisuke told you what happened?"

He shifted on his feet, knee still throbbing. "Some of it."

"Oh," she said. Then she asked, "How is he?"

"Fine," he answered confidently, though he was certain she could see through the charade.

She did not indicate being able to, however, and only nodded, gaze distracted from him. Her fingers played absentmindedly with the bracelet around her wrist, the plastic beads sliding together with tiny tinkling sounds. It was a long moment before she spoke, and when she did, Taichi was startled to hear not a reprimand or a defense, but whispered truth, because she knew he would never repeat it.

So she confessed quietly, "We'd been friends for a long time, all the while I've been off-and-on with Ken. But nothing ever works out when you date a friend." She shook her head mournfully, "Even worse when it happens at the end of something else, you know? Every time I've seen someone end a relationship to start another—it's just bad karma, heavy baggage to bring into something new. That's what the problem was with us making any of it real. And I was afraid…I _am_ afraid I'd ruin other things. That I'd end up without either of them," and her chin jerked towards Mimi's closed apartment door. She seemed to hesitate, then gave a loud groan of distress and clapped a hand over her face, leaning against the door.

Taichi, without marveling at the coincidence of his having to play the comforting role several times in the span of this one evening, fell into the routine. His hand stretched out to pat Miyako's forehead several times in rapid succession. "There, there, now."

"You're really shit at this," she mumbled, unresponsive to his poor display of empathy.

Well, at least someone could see it.

He withdrew his hand and shrugged, accepting this as a turning moment in his friendship with the woman. He spoke casually, "I don't understand why people have liked opening up to me lately. I've been saying for years I'm not good at this stuff."

She raised her chin, studying him in a way that blew his previous assumption of a budding friendship clear out the water. "And yet, here you are."

His brow furrowed, disliking her tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miyako lowered her hand, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's like I said: relationships that start with the end of another are never good karma."

"We're _friends_. That's it." Her gaze glanced back at him coolly, as though challenging him on the truth of the statement. He grit his jaw, meeting her calculating stare with stubborn denial, swallowing back the awkward lump in his thick throat. "I'm only looking out for her."

Her next words were not accusing, but firm. "I know that's what you think you're doing, Taichi," she said with a sigh. "But you're just making this more complicated."

But he couldn't agree, because he wouldn't admit it.

She was insistent, though gentle. "Sometimes the best thing you can do is to know when something's just not a good idea, before anyone gets hurt."

His gaze settled once more on the purple plastic bracelet on her wrist. "You mean, the way you did?"

She followed his eye line, staring at the inexpensive trinket. The pause was long enough for him to regret making the remark, seeing the soft way her expression seemed to color with mixed emotions, until she blinked it away. "You're right. Have to practice what I preach, don't I?" She unfastened the clasp and pushed the cheap jewelry into his startled hands. "Give that back to him, will you?"

He stood for a long time in the doorway after she'd gone inside, holding the little bracelet tightly in a stiff, clutched fist, the throbbing of his knee beating steadily. Finally, he pushed the trinket into the pocket of his jeans, feeling the weight of something thick and unbearable sinking onto his chest, and turned towards the elevator.

It was halfway between floors six and seven that he saw all the texts he'd missed.

_**Where are you? Call me or Hikari back ASAP.**_

_**Where'd you go? Hikari's looking for you.**_

_**Hey, Hikari called, you need to call her back.**_

His breath caught, staring at the messages. He punched the button for the lobby again, heart pounding in his ears. The doors opened at last, and he stumbled into the corridor, thumb hitting the only speed dial he had in his phone.

Her voice was thick. "Tai?"

"'Kari!" he exclaimed, quickening his pace to through the lobby and out onto the street, eyes searching for another cab. "Sorry, my phone was—what's wrong?"

"Where are you?" She sounded distracted, like static, and he had to press his other hand over his ear to concentrate on what she whispered back. "Sora went by your apartment, but she said you weren't there."

"I just—I was with—," and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head violently, "Yamato said you were looking for me?"

"It's, um, it's Dad," she started crying, "and he's not—he's not doing well, Tai. Willis and I just got to the hospital. Can you come? Mom really—we really think you should be here."

He stopped, standing on the street corner with his hand still outstretched for a taxi. "Oh," he breathed. "I—I'm—,"

"Just hurry," she said, and hung up before he could answer, because she knew she wouldn't be able to keep it together if he couldn't for her.


	14. And I Don't Care About Where You've Been

**Come To Me**

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**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all your supportive reviews. I don't have time to answer each one, but as a token of appreciation, I worked to get the next chapter up soon. It wasn't difficult; it was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy it, even though things get messy and feelings will get hurt, sadly. Many things happen in this chapter, and it's difficult to unpack everything when we only have one character viewpoint per installment, but things will be revealed and revisited in the rest of the 'Part Two' arc, which is nearing complete. Answers are coming! I will try not to delay the next chapter too much. Also, many apologies to those following my other chaptered story. I have been in a bit of a slump with that one, but I'll try to spend more time on it when I can. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading.

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_And I don't care about where you've been_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

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"Snack time!" announced Taichi, mustering up all the enthusiasm he could find over the sadly arranged spread his mother had prepared on a serving tray. He carried the platter of orange juice, grapefruit slices, and rice crackers into the bedroom of his parents' flat, walking carefully to avoid spilling. "Who's hungry?"

His father lay on his back under piles of thick blankets and sheets. Taichi immediately paused at the doorway, surveying him carefully, waiting for the rise and fall of his chest. "Dad? You awake?"

But only stillness answered, and no breath came.

The tray clattered to the floor. "_Dad_!"

Susumu's eyes snapped open, face contorted into a pained wince at the sound of shattered glass. "What?"

Taichi froze, arms outstretched in mid-sprint to the bedside. "You—what are you—you were—what—?"

Susumu yawned. "I was trying to see how long I could hold my breath. I'm up to thirty-eight seconds," he added, deeply pleased with himself.

"For fuck's sake, Dad!" His son collapsed into the armchair across from the bed, heart pounding so loudly he felt like the earth was shaking.

"You try not being bored!" protested his father, disgruntled, and he squirmed around under the covers, stretching out his arms and swinging his legs over the side as he sat up. "I've read every book we own in this house, _twice_, including those vegan cookbooks that I still don't understand why we have; it's that weird time of the day when nothing good is on television; and I've run out of paper to make airplanes with and fly out the window into the neighbor's balcony. What else is there to do?"

Taichi cast a trembling hand over his face, gathering his composure. "Dad, I understand you've been on leave from work for a while now, and that you're getting antsy with only a few days left until you get to go back," he took a deep breath, "but could you please try and think of _any_ other way to spend your time instead of shaving years of _my _life with these pranks?"

When his father pouted, it was remarkable how much like a child he appeared. He wondered how his mother ever lasted in an argument with the man.

"What happened to your sense of humor?"

He grit his teeth, heartbeat finally returning to its normal pace. "I believe it killed itself when you packed the glove compartment in Mom's car with confetti canons and they burst open on the ride home from the hospital." It had taken several showers over several days to get the glitter out of all their hair.

Susumu chuckled. "Yeah, I forgot those were in there. I'd thought she'd make use of something in the compartment before then, but that just made the explosion better. Pretty neat they still worked after sitting inside for months, wasn't it?"

Taichi wanted to agree, but he was certain if he did, vocally or otherwise, his mother would be somehow alerted to the action, even from all the way across town where she had gone with Hikari for some weekend shopping. He was not interested in getting in trouble with his mother, despite his current age. He was pretty sure she still had the authority to ground him, and he knew if she got angry enough, he'd ground himself in advance just to save her the effort.

"I think we can just call it a blessing that it didn't send you back to the emergency room with another heart attack."

"_Cardiac event_," Susumu corrected at once. "And of course it wouldn't. The first was nothing but a fluke. You know how those doctors always make a big deal out of nothing."

Taichi did not comment; he was determined to not revisit those days again, and the only way to do it was to never acknowledge conversation that alluded to what had really happened that week. Instead, he slid from the chair and started gathering up the rice crackers. "Doctors do have a flair for drama."

"Being the star of all those ridiculous medical shows doesn't help," agreed his father. "How does your friend's boyfriend do it?"

Taichi shook his head. "He's not her boyfriend anymore." But his voice was distracted, and the last cracker crumbled easily in his hand, and the way he paused did nothing to keep up the façade.

Susumu observed him silently for a few seconds, then stood and moved to the doorway, starting to bend over to help pick up the mess. Taichi's arm shot up to stop him, "No, it's fine, Dad, I've got it. You sit down. Just rest."

"What do you think I've been doing all this time?" said his father with a teasing chuckle that the young man did not return. His smile disappeared. "I'm doing much better, Taichi. You don't have to come by weekends and weeknights just to check. I'm not going anywhere."

Taichi reached for the last grapefruit slice that had slid underneath the dresser. "You almost did."

Susumu put his hand on the back of his son's neck, pulling him to his feet. "But I didn't."

He couldn't look at him, staring at the floor where the broken glass lay in pieces on the tray. "But you almost did." He rubbed the side of thumb over his nose, unable to stop the trembling smile from coming to his lips. "What a start to this year that would have been."

The elder Yagami returned the small smile, wisely keeping silent.

Taichi took a deep breath. "I was really scared."

"Me, too," admitted Susumu softly.

And somehow, that made him feel better.

Leaving the mess on the floor, he sank into the armchair again as Susumu settled himself on the edge of the bed, stretching his legs before him. "But I mean it. You don't have to come over so often. You're going to spoil your mother into thinking this is the new routine, and when you start returning to normal, I'm the one who's going to have to listen to her complaining about her ungrateful children."

Taichi rolled his eyes. "Since when has Mom ever thought of me and 'Kari as anything but angels?"

He snorted. "Your sister, maybe. You?" He shook his head. "This is the woman who found you trying to clean the family cat in the dishwasher."

The younger man groaned, tossing his head back. "Are we ever not going to talk about that story? I was four-years-old!"

"A four-year-old with freakishly long arms to operate the buttons on the thing."

"I was a beautiful baby."

"That's neither here nor there."

Taichi mumbled a protest. "Aren't parents supposed to think their kids are the best?"

"You know how we feel about Hikari."

He shook his head, swallowing the laugh, though his dark brown eyes shone in delight at the normalcy of their banter. It felt good to settle into the familiar, to know things were okay. That's all Taichi wanted these days, had been needing for much longer.

He paused, picking at a loose thread in the hem of his red and black plaid button-up. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," said his father, scratching his ear with another yawn.

He focused his attention to the detail in the loose thread with unnatural interest. "I know you've both told us how you two met in college, but that it wasn't until your last year that you got together. Did the time in between help you figure out—I mean…like, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Susumu considered his answer, tilting his head back so he could study the ceiling as he formulated his response. "I suppose I just realized one day that hers was the story I wanted to be." He nodded, "So that's what I did. It all just fell into place after I accepted it."

Taichi continued tugging at the thread. "You make it sound easy, knowing something like that."

"Oh, it was hell," said his father cheerfully. "By the time I realized I needed her, she was already engaged to this other guy. I had a devil of a time breaking them up." His tone was nostalgic, as though recalling the plot of a charming romantic comedy instead of his own dubious romantic choices.

Taichi was floored. "Mom was engaged to someone else?"

"Sure, she was. A couple of times, actually."

His hand dropped to the armrest with a thud. "_What_?"

Susumu's face was blank. "You're unusually clumsy today."

Taichi ignored the remark, still reeling from the first revelation. "How did I not know about this?" he cried, beside himself with shock.

"Your mother was very popular," Susumu went on matter-of-factly, as though he should have figured that out on his own. "Where else do you think your sister gets it from?"

Now Taichi was offended for an entirely different reason. "What about me?"

Susumu's face fell. "Oh, son. No." He shook his head. "Just no."

"But I do pretty well—,"

"It's not a competition," interrupted his father in what he evidently intended to be a soothing tone rather than the pitying one it actually was. "But if it were, Hikari would win. I mean, have you looked at that boyfriend of hers, _really_ looked? I would accept grandchildren from him if I really had to. And I don't think I'd be all that bothered by them turning out blond." He reconsidered the statement, then added hastily, "Well, not at first, if they grew out of it. Let's face it: brunet is the way to be. Gentlemen can prefer blondes, sure, but they shouldn't _be_ blond—,"

"Dad," said Taichi, cutting into what was turning out to be another one of Susumu's rambling opinions on what could and should be the ideal state of the world, had he been allowed to set the correct order of nature from the start, "can we go back to the Mom-was-engaged thing?"

"You should probably be asking her the story," said Susumu. Then he paused. "Or stories, I suppose. Sometimes I find it unbelievable I ever convinced her to leave them all for me. But I am pretty precious," he acknowledged humbly with a smirking glint in his eyes.

Taichi sat back, shaking his head. "It's good to know your ego hasn't taken an ounce of a hit after all these years."

The elder Yagami tapped a finger to his temple. "The key is to keep your mind sharp and active."

The younger rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dad."

"And to keep yourself surrounded by good, witty company. You know, quick banter and entertaining conversation."

Taichi's mouth curled into a wry smirk. "I don't know how that will work for me. Seems like you and Mom are expecting me to die alone."

"Don't be ridiculous. We think you'll get a dog."

Taichi murmured, thinking aloud, "Catherine's allergic to dogs."

Susumu straightened, eyebrow arched. "Oh?"

His face felt warm, "I mean—,"

"I didn't realize you two were serious."

"We're not," denied Taichi at once. "I mean, it's not anything…_real_. It's just—,"

"Fun?" supplied Susumu with a wink. "I know all about that kind of fun. Why, the other day when your mother and I got home after the doctor finally said I was ready for—,"

"Enough! No! Never! Stop!" cried Taichi, hysteric, waving his hands in distress.

"I thought this is what men talked about with each other?"

But his son kept gesturing about wildly like a terrified jellyfish, as though trying to physically smack away any indecent thoughts from entering his mind's eye. "We're not men, Dad! We're family!"

"You weren't this immature when I had to give you The Talk in grade school."

Taichi paused, confused, arms splayed in the air in mid-motion. "You never gave me The Talk."

Susumu mirrored the younger man's bewilderment. "I didn't?"

He made a face. "Believe me, I would have remembered. You don't forget that kind of trauma."

"Then how did you know anything?"

"I was there when Yamato's dad gave it to him and Takeru. He lassoed me up with the both of them, like a discount deal on responsible parenting," he shrugged.

Susumu rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Hiroaki's in journalism. He'd include all the facts. Did he tell you about—?"

"Dad," groaned the man, smacking a hand to his face, "please stop."

"Well, how am I supposed to know if you know everything?"

"Trust me, I figured it out."

But that was the wrong thing to assure his father, who wiggled his brow in sly amusement. "Oh, did you now?"

"We are not talking about this anymore—,"

"Are you embarrassed?"

"No! I just don't have anything to say to you about it!"

"Well, I do have quite a number of years of experience over you, so actually, you _should_ be asking me for advice."

"That is absolutely not happening."

"Are you sure? You could be making Catherine a lot happier if you—,"

"Catherine and I aren't sleeping together!"

Susumu stopped his response mid-word, surprised.

Flustered, Taichi launched to his feet, striding to the door. "You don't have to look that shocked."

"No, I'm not," lied his father at once, poorly covering his tracks. He followed him into the corridor, crossing the hallway into the kitchen where Taichi selected a new glass from the cupboard to remake the snack tray. "I mean, I just—well, since it's been a few months, I guess I just assumed—it's unexpected."

Taichi opened the refrigerator, shaking the juice carton slightly before untwisting the cap. "I know it's weird—,"

"No, it's not," interrupted Susumu firmly. "It's your own choice, both of you."

"Actually," said Taichi, hesitating over how much he wanted to relay his personal life, but deciding in the end that his father did know him best of all, "it was more me. You know, the whole should-I-trust-women-again thing." He left the explanation at that, uncomfortable with getting deeper.

Susumu spoke kindly, voice calm. "You understand, of course, that you can't lump all women together because of one person?"

"Even if that one person did a pretty big number on me?" asked Taichi with a dry smile. He took out another glass, filling it with fresh orange juice before returning the carton to the fridge. "I told her from the start that I'm not trying to make us into anything. But it's been a while now, and I'm not sure if I'm being all that fair to her anymore."

Susumu waited until they had carried their drinks to the kitchen table, taking seats across from each other, before answering. "You know, I may kid around a lot with you," he said with a serious hint, "but your being careful is not a sign that you're being careless. It's smart."

He ran a hand through his thick hair, biting at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I know."

"But," continued his father cautiously, "there are all kinds of intimacies, and not sharing that one doesn't mean things aren't real. She might not understand that if you're not honest with her as things go on."

Taichi shook his head, swallowing a large gulp of juice. "That was the wrong word to use. I didn't mean it's not real to me. It is. I just…I don't know when I'll be ready to give anybody anything more. Not after—," and he stopped abruptly, breath light as the panic swelled, then forced himself to finish the thought, "—her."

His father listened quietly, regarding him in that knowing way only the best fathers could.

"I thought it would get easier," said Taichi after a long moment. "For the longest time, I thought it would all stop, that one day I'd wake up and I wouldn't feel like I've just been…drowning." He tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, trying to shake the memories away. "But it doesn't work that way. I thought for a while that it was gonna work like that, but sometimes all I can think about is what happened before, and I hate not being able to keep it from happening again."

Susumu leaned forward, voice low, "You know that I would give anything to keep you from ever getting hurt, that if there was something I could have done to stop what happened, I would have already done it tenfold, don't you?"

He nodded, "I know, Dad." He raised his chin confidently, "And it's been easier in different ways, going slow."

"Because you're taking the time to get to know her?"

His hesitance was barely noticeable. "Yeah," he nodded.

But Susumu noticed, because only the best fathers could. He did not remark on it, however, and only smiled.

Taichi added hastily, "And she understands, too…Catherine does. So that's nice."

"Good. Glad to hear it." He continued casually, rising from the table, "When you meet the right person, it's like waking up. It's like getting a new script, and you know you couldn't possibly play any other role. But that doesn't mean you have to dive right in, make yourself into something you're not. Take time." He rested his hand on the young man's shoulder as he passed behind his chair. "That's what your mother and I want for you both: to take the time to find your stories, and to live them."

He smiled, "Even if it's just 'Yagami Taichi: Dog Owner'?"

"Please do not send me to your ancestors in the afterlife without aspiring to anything more than that."

"As long as you promise not to hurry up getting there, I'll aspire to anything."

"Even 'Yagami Taichi: Greatest Prime Minister The World Will Ever Know'?"

He blanched, "You're really not going to meet me half-way on these life ambitions, are you?"

Susumu ruffled his hair, the way he'd always done since he was a boy. "Not to worry. There's always Hikari."

"And what am I always there to do?" inquired the subject in question, emerging from the front door with an armful of parcels and shopping bags.

"Becoming Prime Minister," clarified Taichi, moving to help her carry the items inside the flat. His mother came in soon after, gratefully allowing her son to take one of the larger bags from her arms as she did.

"The Greatest Prime Minister The World Will Ever Know," corrected Susumu, accepting a kiss on the cheek from his daughter in greeting.

"Oh, I could see that," said Yuuko, nodding enthusiastically.

Hikari smiled, shaking her head at the ridiculous notion. "I'm sure that would go over well with my students, leaving them for politics."

"All you'd have to do is outlaw naps, and they'd vote you into a dictatorship for life," Susumu pointed out, delighted by the possibility.

Unfortunately, Yuuko overheard the keyword in his remark, latching onto her husband with a firm grasp around his forearm. "Speaking of naps, it's time for yours."

"I just had one!"

"He did not," said Taichi. "He spent it trying to see how long he could hold his breath."

"_What_?" exclaimed their mother, while Susumu tossed his son a wounded look of betrayal. "How is that in any way helpful for you to be practicing, or even doing at all at your age?"

"It was just a game," protested Susumu. "And what do you mean 'at my age'?"

"It means you're really, really old, Dad," said Taichi, terrifically blunt.

"But always young enough to kick your butt, and don't you forget it."

Yuuko fluttered around her husband bossily, ignoring the men's banter, steering her husband towards the bedroom. "If you didn't have your nap, did you have your grapefruit and crackers?"

"I hate grapefruit and crackers."

"That's why you have them with the juice, so you can wash it dow—what on earth is all this broken glass on the floor?"

"Taichi did it!"

"_Dad_!"

Yuuko barked threateningly, "Taichi, come in and clean this up, right now!"

Hikari was giggling at her brother's instinctive response to obey, watching him make a beeline to their parents' bedroom simply from the tone of their mother's commanding voice.

"This is what happens when I leave you alone," complained Yuuko'd voice loudly from the bedroom.

"That's why you shouldn't leave me alone," said Susumu in response.

"So what, I can't even have a few moments peace to myself?"

"You said 'farewell' to peace the minute you said 'yes' to me."

"Funny how I don't regret it, isn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely…."

Taichi froze on his feet when he heard his mother giggling.

"Don't do that, Susumu—the doctor said—,"

"Can't you two wait until we're not in earshot!" shouted Taichi when his mother dissolved into giggles again while Hikari paled. He dove for her, grabbing his coat from the stand in the hallway and the young woman's thin wrist as he yanked her to the door. It was only after they'd reached the staircase at the end of the corridor that he let her go, shuddering.

Hikari was chewing her lip as she followed behind him. "Are you sure it's been enough time for him to—?"

"Nope, we are not talking about this," thundered Taichi, shaking his head furiously.

"But the doctor said that—,"

But Taichi waved her concern away. "You know Mom is sticking hard and fast to the recovery timeline the nurses gave him. If they are, you know," and he gulped, "then it's only because she's decided it's fine, too."

"I suppose…."

They reached the bottom of the staircase, standing outside the entrance to the building on a sunny day in the end of winter. Taichi lifted his face to the warm sun, pausing to pull on his jacket properly. "Coffee?"

Hikari agreed readily. "Are you sure you don't have to get back?" she asked, falling into step with him. "Koushiro said you both had a lot of work to finish in the next week."

"I refuse to work weekends," he said, "unlike him."

"Is that why he's been promoted and you haven't?"

Taichi cleared his throat, hesitant, "Actually, that's because I'm leaving when this project finishes."

His sister glanced up in shock, small mouth parted. "You're quitting?"

"Leaving," he said, preferring the euphemism. "I just feel like it's right. There are other projects more interesting than the ones we've been getting, and maybe I've outgrown the place." And because it was Hikari, he confessed in an off-handed tone, "Besides, it's not exactly wonderful knowing the whole department still remembers that time I showed up drunk."

She did not comment on the last remark, reminding him why she was the best sibling by not doing so, and instead swallowed her stunned response and smiled genuinely at him. "Well, it seems you've been thinking about it for a while then. I'm happy if you are. It's exciting to start something new."

He shrugged, soaking up the confidence-boosting praise like a shallow sponge. "I sent out my resume to a few places last week. We'll see how things go."

She directed them to a coffee shop on the next corner, selected a table close to the counter where she placed their orders. Peering into the bakery shelves, she pointed to a raspberry scone. "Want one?"

He shook his head, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, right, I forgot about you and pink foods."

"It just doesn't make sense!"

She waved him off dismissively, returning her attention to the barista assisting her, and Taichi took a seat at the table, stretching his legs in a way that reminded him of his father. He remembered how Susumu would come home from work and do the same stretches on the couch, with Taichi mimicking each action since he'd been a toddler. Then, his little legs had barely crossed the length of the couch cushion; now, he was a good few inches taller than his father, which Susumu did not like to admit.

He smiled to himself, amused, and Hikari raised a curious eyebrow as she took the chair opposite him. "What's funny?"

Taichi shrugged. "This month. A strange one, hasn't it been?"

Hikari leaned forward, her arms crossed over the tabletop. "A bit more eventful than the last, I'd agree."

He stretched his hand so he could drum his fingers on her wrist lightly. "You all right?"

Her eyes twinkled with warmth. "I am."

He continued drumming, "The doctor says if he keeps up with his medication and diet, the risk of another episode will be low."

"We're lucky it is," she replied softly.

"The hard part will be the diet," observed Taichi.

"Well, that's Mom's job."

"I'm not sure I'd wish her bossiness even on a healthy man." He stopped, remembering the revelation from earlier. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to emphasize the drama of the juicy gossip bomb he was about to drop on their conversation. "Did you know Mom's been engaged before?"

Hikari blinked, confused. "Yes. Didn't you?"

His jaw dropped, "How did you know before me? I was born first!"

She suppressed the instinct to laugh at his dismay as he sat back, withdrawing his hands to his lap.

"It's just weird to think of our…_parents_ having lives before us."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "It's not that hard. We've known them all our lives, they haven't always known us."

"They're basically strangers," he went on, lamenting the change in their family dynamic with this new scandal. "And who is this guy? Or should I say '_guys_'? How could Mom have more than one boyfriend before Dad?"

"Are you betrayed for Dad, or for yourself?"

He ignored her wise observations, astute though they were, and returned to the point. "Our lives could have been completely different."

"Yes, I could have been born first." Their coffees arrived then, and Hikari accepted her freshly heated raspberry scone with extra pleasure, taking a tiny bite before continuing, "Why're you so interested in these what-ifs, anyway?"

Taichi shrugged, picking up his coffee cup. "It just had me thinking, that's all."

Hikari studied him over the top of her scone, chewing thoughtfully. "About a girl?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't start."

But he had never been good at lying, and even worse yet when it came to lying to Hikari.

She smirked, lips pursed. "Taichi, just talk to her," and she stood, grabbing her cup to carry back to the counter for more sugar and a touch of milk.

He stared after her, still holding his coffee raised to his mouth. His lips pressed into a thin, determined line, and he set the cup down with finality, leaning to the side so that he could fish his phone from his jeans pocket. Unlocking the screen, he scrolled into his recent messages, selecting one near the top, and drafted his reply as carefully as he could.

But before he could hit the send button, the phone rang.

He answered after the fourth ring, startled by the timing. "Hey."

"Guess what I'm doing right now."

"Talking on the phone?"

Mimi ignored his response. "I was just going about my day, getting some errands done, and I stopped into this electronics store—you know, to look at new toasters after you and Daisuke destroyed mine, thanks very much for that, by the way—and _do you know who was there_?"

"A toaster salesman?" he said, exasperated.

"That lead singer from that metal band we went to go see last fall! And he remembered you!" She screeched with laughter and he had to pull the phone back from his ear a little, stunned by her hysterically delighted response as much as by the strange coincidence she was retelling.

"Seriously?" he said, shocked.

"So I got to talking and explained everything, and he turned out to be really nice and gave me a signed album for Daisuke and some tickets to his next show. He said he's willing to give you a second a chance."

His shock turned into an inexplicable chill running under his skin. "…Seriously?"

She blabbered on excitably, oblivious to the dread in his voice. "We _have_ to go. What are you doing now? It's at eight but we've got to pick up Daisuke first. Should we get dinner, too?"

His chest was seized by a strange weight, and he pulled on the loose thread at the hem of his shirt again. "Actually, I'm busy tonight."

"Oh," then she recovered quickly, "of course! It's late notice. I'll ask Micha—,"

"But I mean," and he clapped his hand over his face, swallowing the lump in his throat, "maybe I could come by later."

"Taichi," she interrupted in a flat tone, "the whole point of this is so you don't keep getting blacklisted by every live band venue in town. I don't think showing up late in the middle of the show is going to help with that."

"Right," he said after a moment in which no excuse could manifest itself in his mind, imagination failing when faced with reality.

"But I'll work on getting tickets to the next one," she promised cheerfully. "I think if I play my cards right, I could get more passes. Does Catherine like metal music?"

He pressed his hand harder over his closed eyes. "You know, I don't think it's ever come up."

"Well, ask her, and let me know." There was shuffling sounds on the other end of the line, and then her voice returned with loud exuberance. "Oh, how's your dad feeling? Is he excited about finally being able to go back to work next week? Did he manage to get a paper airplane into the neighbor's flower pot he was aiming for? Has he been eating the broth I made?"

He smirked into his palm, amused by her incessant questioning. "How exactly do you eat broth?"

"He doesn't like it?" she asked, sounding crestfallen.

Taichi corrected his joke hastily. "No, it's just—I mean, yes. It's great, Mimi. Thanks for making it."

"I have some other things I made, too. I'll bring them by later this week, just tell me when's best."

His smirk turned to a smile, a warm blush on his cheeks. "Thanks. I will."

"Oh, that's Miyako calling—I have to go. I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah, sure, see y—," but the line had already disconnected.

He sat back, lowering the phone to the table and staring at it.

"Was that her?" asked Hikari, returning to the table in time to witness the abrupt goodbye exchange.

But Taichi shook his head. "No, it was Mimi. She wanted to go to some metal concert."

Hikari stared back blankly. "Metal?"

He rolled his eyes, "Some band Daisuke used to be really into a while back. Mimi hated them as much as I did, but you know how she's been these past few weeks. She hates being alone." He pulled the coffee cup back to him, "She's been keeping herself busy all the time so she won't have to be still and think and remember."

Hikari turned her head to the side, cheek resting in her palm. "Sounds familiar."

He stuck out the tip of his tongue. "Don't start."

"I told you," she repeated, picking up her scone for another bite, "Just talk to her."

Taichi gave a start, toggling the screen on his phone back on with his free hand. "I was about to before Mimi called—,"

"Don't be so dense," said Hikari with a small smirk. "You know I was talking about Mimi."

He froze, mouth open. "What?"

But she did not elaborate, sipping her coffee and avoiding his exacting gaze.

"Seriously this time, 'Kari, don't start," he said.

So she didn't, but she also knew she did not have to, and so did he.

He put his drink down again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't want to make things more complicated."

Hikari shook her head, voice like a sigh. "They already are."

She returned to her scone and coffee, and he excused himself to the restroom to give him a moment of not being so easily figured out by the wiser Yagami offspring. Ducking into the corridor where the toilets were placed, he leaned against the wall and unlocked the screen of his phone, opening his text messages for the last time. He pressed send after a hesitance, then opened a new message.

_**sry about 2nite. have fun**_

Her reply came almost immediately, startling him.

_**I invented fun.**_

_**ill believe when i see**_

_**Not sure you're ready.**_

He hesitated, typing even slower than usual. _**maybe i am**_

_**Haha! Okay, control yourself. I'll be out of town next weekend, but let's go out for Daisuke's birthday after. That should be enough time to prepare yourself for fun.**_

He selected the emoticon of a thumbs-up sign, hitting the send button quickly. He started to put the mobile away, when she replied again.

_**Invite C!**_

He stared at the message, chewing on his lip, then resent the thumbs-up icon, feeling like he was just giving out another line from a script that wasn't his, a role not written for him, and that maybe the only story he wanted to be was hers.


	15. Don't Be Sad, And Don't Explain

**Come To Me**

* * *

**Summary**: After being left at the altar, all the jilted groom wants is a return to normalcy. All the anxious caterer wants is her check. [AU]

* * *

_Don't be sad and don't explain_

"Come to Me," by The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

"He doesn't like me."

"That's absolutely not true."

"You know it is."

"What's not to like about you?"

"Many things. A plethora. A veritable bounty of—,"

"Michael."

"I just mean that I see no reason of going to this party when he doesn't want me there."

"I want you there, and by virtue of wanting me there, he wants you there as well."

"…That makes absolutely no sense."

"When have I not made sense?"

"Do you mean today, or in the past hour?"

Mimi lowered the mascara tube to her lap, casting her childhood friend a steady, exacting look. His smile was thin in response, amused by her exasperation as much as he was being the cause of it, but he did not continue the teasing.

Instead, he returned to his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging over the length of her closet door, adjusting his tie. "I'll take you, stay for ten minutes—do you hear me, Mimi? Ten minutes, that's _all_—and then I'm taking the nine o'clock train home."

Her annoyance shifted to dismay. "You can't go so soon!"

But he refused to budge, being the only one of her friends who had somehow managed to succeed in keeping the wall of defense against her whining firmly positioned no matter how often her tantrums railed against it (even Daisuke would break if she complained long enough, eventually anyway). It was likely the reason why their friendship had lasted as long as it had unscathed, and why her parents had a tendency to remark after his well-being every time she spoke to them. A part of Mimi suspected that her parents still hoped that by talking about Michael enough times, they could somehow magic the two of them together, a union that by all accounts seemed logical given their similar upbringing. But Michael's idea of ambitious goal-setting put even the A-est of Type-A's to humbling shame, and Mimi was admittedly too flighty to fill in the supporting secondary role to either's satisfaction.

Instead, Michael reminded her in a tone of voice that had no interest in being combative, but remained firm nonetheless, "We've both got lives to get back to, as fun as our reunion has been. Don't worry. You'll be fine."

She wasn't listening, still panicked at the idea of his leaving. She offered hopefully, "Maybe I could visit again, like last weekend."

He pulled on the knot, crafting the intricate wrinkles and lines into the perfect triangle. "It's going to be a busy week."

"Then next month."

"It's going to be a busy month."

Michael gestured towards his finished ensemble, seeking approval, but Mimi was not interested. "You don't want me to come."

"That is not true," he said, easily brushing off her pouty exaggeration. "I like when you come visit, and I like when I visit you." And here he paused, levelling her a serious look. "But, Mimi, I'm your friend. I'm not your escape."

She capped the mascara tube and returned it to her purse. "I know."

He smiled, approaching her to place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "You ready to go?" he asked, taking her silence as the apology it was for the way she'd been hiding behind him for so long. She was grateful he did not press her into speaking more about it, something he'd never made her do before she was ready. She nodded instead, cheer returning brightly to her heart-shaped face, and the conversation shifted to more lighthearted matters as they made their way to the party.

Daisuke's apartment was not meant to hold ten people, let alone the nearly fifty-five who actually showed up. This proved beneficial for the both of them, as Michael was relieved to note he could have a drink before meeting the host, who he was convinced did not like him for some unknown reason, and as Mimi was happy to have a moment to gauge the situation.

She knew he was here, and, like in every situation where they had to encounter each other in small spaces, she was nervous. So she gripped Michael's hand tighter, coaxing him through the crowd and towards the drinks table by the door, lifting two light beers from a half-melted tub of ice. Michael used his keys to remove the caps and they shared a toast, though Mimi refused to let him let her go until several more sips.

"Do you know anyone else here?" he asked her, leaning forward so he wouldn't have to shout over the chatter and music.

"Daisuke invites anyone he sees to his parties," replied Mimi, rolling her eyes. "Last year, the mail carrier came, bringing a very nice carrot cake."

Michael chuckled, but she quickly waved away his amusement.

"It's not funny. It just means a completely disorganized party. Nothing every goes right, everything always ends in disaster…."

"That sounds like a success in Daisuke's book," said Michael after another sip.

Mimi didn't answer, recognizing the face approaching them now. She took a large gulp of her beer, wiping her mouth with the back of a trembling hand, and beamed the largest smile she could find on such short notice.

"Hi, Catherine!" she said, voice cracking a little, which Michael noticed with a furrowed brow.

"Have you seen Taichi?" Catherine asked after hugging her in greeting, peering about the room. "You think it wouldn't be easy losing sight of someone in a place as tiny as this, and yet…." She trailed off with a shake of her head, ringlets of curls bouncing over thin shoulders.

"No," said Mimi, rushed. "I haven't."

"We only just got here," explained Michael.

"Then, welcome," smiled Catherine cheerfully. She shook his hand in greeting, then pointed at the large open window at the other end of the packed apartment. "They're outside, if you're looking for Daisuke and his friends. On the fire escape."

"Isn't that illegal—?" Michael started to wonder, cutting himself off with a gasp when Mimi grabbed his collar and yanked him towards her.

"Great, we'll see you later," she called after the blonde woman, walking quickly.

"Mimi, slow down!" Michael yelled, struggling to keep up with her. She only removed her hand when they had immersed themselves in the dancing, jostling, party-going horde, relaxing once out of Catherine's sight. She drank the rest of her beer quickly, once again alarming her childhood best friend. "Maybe you should slow down in other ways, too," he remarked.

She cuffed the side of his head and stopped at the kitchenette to retrieve a few more bottles of beer, handing them to Michael to carry, before they both poked their heads out of the window, looking for Daisuke. He waved at them, trying to stand, swaying visibly. Allowing Takeru to yank him back down onto the thin stairwell of the fire escape, he yelled back in a hoarse voice, "You're both late! What took so long?"

"You can't be late to a party, Daisuke," replied Mimi matter-of-factly, taking Koushiro's outstretched hand as she carefully stepped onto the makeshift balcony.

"What are you all doing out here anyway?" asked Michael, curious. He declined Takeru's attempt at waving him to join them, remaining seated on the windowsill in the relative safety (and warmth) of the indoors.

"Having a little pow-wow," admitted Koushiro, and Daisuke's face seemed to crumble.

Mimi looked alarmed. "Dais, what's wrong? You can't be sad on your birthday!"

But he just shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "I invited her and she didn't come."

"The party's not over yet, Daisuke," pointed Takeru. "She could still come."

"Yeah, maybe," mumbled the miserable host.

Mimi crawled closer to him, slipping her arms around his neck. "I'm here. Can that be enough for now?"

With a sloppy grin, Daisuke opened his arms to envelope her in a bear hug, pulling her into his lap. "It's always enough. We can be miserable together."

"As usual," she said, swallowing the wince, knowing he was too drunk to be mindful of his blunt speech. But it still felt nice to have him close, and she snuggled into his hug, face pressed into his neck, relaxing for the first real time that night.

"So this is where you all are," said a familiar voice, and she squeezed her eyes closed tighter, turning her face into Daisuke's chest and pretending to go very still, listening.

"You guys know this is illegal, don't you?" said Yamato's voice.

"Jeez, Taichi, why'd you have to bring the wet blanket with you?" complained Takeru.

"He's also brought me, remember."

Takeru's voice magically brightened. "Catherine, you are a veritable light in the bleak darkness of all our futures. I hope you never let an hour go by without making Taichi tell you that."

"And in case I forget, you can just speed-dial Takeru for your daily dose of verbal bullshit."

A round of laughter interrupted Takeru's retort, and Mimi could feel Daisuke's chest shake deeply as he chuckled along.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Yamato."

Daisuke shifted a little, but Mimi kept her face hidden into his chest, breathing hard. "Sorry, bad host. Michael, this everyone. Everyone, Michael. Mimi and Michael go way back, don't you, Mimi?"

He wiggled her then, and she finally emerged, cheeks flushed. Avoiding the open windowsill, she instead tossed her hair back resolutely and held out her hand to Michael, pointing to one of the bottles of beers she had left with him before climbing out onto the fire escape.

He handed it to her, rolling his eyes, "Back far enough to know when she's not in the mood to talk about herself."

"Utter rarity," agreed Daisuke, winking at her, but Mimi still said nothing, focusing on her drink. She did slip out of Daisuke's arms, however, allowing him to accept a drink of his own that Michael gave him. Scooting into the space next to Takeru, she kept her face bent down, knees pulled to her chin, drink cradled in her hands in her lap.

"And even rarer when she's not in the mood to joke about it either," observed Michael, studying her through a masked smile.

Mimi refused to meet his gaze, knowing he'd be able to read through it, but by that point, the conversation had changed. Daisuke drew attention back to himself after demanding to know what presents the newly arrived Yamato had brought, dissolving into childish hysterics when the blond delivered his gift ("My respect.") in a deadpan tone amidst another round of laughter from the group.

Even Mimi cracked a small smile then, sipping her beer carefully, glancing up to see dark brown eyes watching her, too. Taichi immediately looked away, raising his own beer to his lips to hide the brief coloring of his cheeks.

Heart fluttering, she drank heavily again, chewing on her bottom lip, while Takeru elbowed her. "You all right?"

"Sure," she said, forcing a smile. "We weren't that late, were we?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "All you missed was Daisuke moping. He's cheered up a bit though," and he gestured to the drink in Daisuke's hand to indicate the cause of his mood change.

Mimi giggled. "We're both pretty terrible about our coping mechanisms."

Takeru eyed the way she gulped through another bottle. "I'm starting to tell. You sure you don't want to slow down a little?"

"What for?" she asked. "I have to catch up with you all if I've just got here."

Takeru didn't respond, eyebrow raised in a smirk.

Mimi raised her nose in the air and started to make a smug retort about how she was an adult and knew how to handle herself—until she finally caught what the others were talking about and her heart stopped.

"—he said not to get too excited, though," Yamato was saying, handing Daisuke a rectangular package. "And that if you don't like it, he's included the gift receipt if you want a different color."

"Oh, that's just Jyou being Jyou," said Daisuke dismissively, eagerly snatching up the gift and tearing through the wrapping paper. "He's given me gift receipts on things I specifically asked him to get me, things that weren't even presents."

Catherine was leaning forward, curious. "What is it?"

"Oh, wow," said Koushiro, impressed, as Daisuke lifted the object from the paper.

It was a manual, hand-crank pasta roller, with a wooden handle and a bright, firehouse red metal stand, crafted from crisp steel lines and exchangeable attachments for producing different kinds of noodles. Impressed murmurs sounded throughout the collected group as Daisuke held up the box in awe, mouth agape, and Mimi felt like the world had gotten dark, hearing their excited conversation through a thick, confusing fog.

"I can't believe he remembered me talking about wanting this," mumbled Daisuke, eyes watery (though this was likely an effect of the liquor he'd been consuming all evening).

"He's a good friend," said Yamato with a smile.

"You'll have to make him something now," observed Catherine.

And Takeru interjected, "Or all of us something. That would be the real way to show gratitude."

Mimi stood up suddenly, stepping forward. She moved so quickly she stumbled, tripping into the group assembled at the window. A hand darted out to steady her, grasping her wrist, and when she looked up, it was dark brown eyes swimming in front of her, full of unmasked concern, like he understood, like he knew how this felt.

She flinched, yanking away. "I just need to use the restroom," she said, mumbling.

Pushing through the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces, she sequestered herself at last inside Daisuke's tiny bathroom, standing for a moment in front of the sink. Taking a deep breath, she climbed into the tub and sank to the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and pulled the curtain shut, rocking back and forth until her heartbeat could return to its normal pace.

She needed to be better than this.

She couldn't do this here.

She shouldn't be this selfish.

The door opened, and she peeked out of an eye, squinting up at the shadowy figure that stood on the other side of the curtain. The figure took a seat on the covered toilet, elbows on his knees. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," whispered Mimi.

"Do you want me to stay this weekend?"

She hesitated, but again declined. "No."

"You know that I will, if you want me to."

"I know." She took a deep breath, steadying her shaking voice. "But you're right, Michael. You're not an escape. I have to be here and I have to get used to this."

He pulled the curtain back, smiling down at her gently. "Yeah, but you don't have to do it by yourself." His expression was soft. "I'm sorry for how I said that. I don't want you to think you can't come to me, or that I'll ever want you to stop."

"I didn't think that's what you meant," she promised, returning the small smile. "Besides, sometimes you need that one person to be the hard-line-kind-of-friend."

He held out his hand to her, and she took it, standing. Helping her out of the tub, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm going to try to catch the next train, but I want you to call me if anything happens, okay? Don't just force yourself to go through the motions because you think you have to. You should only cross each next step when you're ready, not because you know you should. Okay?"

Mimi nodded, fingers curled around the hem of his jacket tightly.

"You sure you're going to be okay?"

"Yes. They're not all bad, you know, Daisuke's friends."

Michael rolled his eyes, "They're your friends, too. And I kind of like them. You'll have to invite them over the next time I'm in town. Especially that one with the hair, Taichi? He's hilarious."

Mimi gave a start, frowning. "He barely talked to you—,"

"Ah," said Michael, smirking, "I thought I saw you looking at him."

Her face burned scarlet, and she smacked a fist into his shoulder. "Oh, just leave already."

He laughed, hugging her once more, and they left the restroom (to the catcalls of a few partygoers lingering nearby) hand-in-hand. Michael said his farewells to Daisuke, who nodded distractedly, and then waved to the rest as Mimi saw him out. When she returned, pausing to open another bottle of beer, it was only Yamato, Catherine, Taichi, and Koushiro sitting on the fire escape, clinging to the respite the balcony offered from the crowded, increasingly warming, cramped interior. Koushiro rose to help Mimi out onto the balcony again, for she was feeling lightheaded and tipsy by then, pleasantly so, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek for giving her his seat on the stairwell.

They had been in the middle of a conversation when she appeared, it seemed, hushing immediately after her return. Mimi, avoiding their gazes, or perhaps only one in particular, decided to laugh it off. "You guys don't have to censor yourselves around me. The first time was unexpected, but I can handle talking about him."

"We weren't discussing anything," protested Koushiro at once, his ears red.

"Nothing at all?" asked Mimi, eyebrow arched as she took another sip.

"Just the normal things," said Taichi casually. "You know, issues in foreign policy, cures for root rot, why the sky's blue…."

Catherine covered his mouth with a hand, forcing an end to his stream of nonsense, and grinned at Mimi. "I heard you were out of town last week. Did you have a nice vacation?"

"Oh, it wasn't a vacation," said Mimi, waving a hand. "It was my parents trying to decide what I should do with my life next."

"That doesn't sound like a vacation to you?" muttered Yamato, and Mimi laughed.

"Do they have lots of ideas for you?" asked Koushiro.

"Now they do," said Mimi. "Before it was, you know, get married or something." She took another large gulp, feeling her face warm. "So they called some kind of emergency session to see what happens next if I never do."

Catherine's eyebrows raised, pretty blue eyes wide in surprise. "They don't think it's premature to be worried about that?"

Mimi swayed a little when she leaned forward and shook a finger at her. "You're lucky you don't have my parents."

"Still, they can definitely relax," said Yamato. "Parents are going to think whatever they want, but don't let their worries get to you. You'll be all right."

"You think so?" mused Mimi, slumping back against the stairwell.

"Sure, you will. I mean," and he stammered, something that was entirely unlike him, "just look at you."

Taichi smirked, "Well, I never thought I'd see the day when Ishida could so eloquently speak of a woman's attractiveness."

Mimi grinned slyly. "You said I was attractive the other day."

And he immediately started to deny it, face warming. "That is false."

"Nuh-uh. I remember. You were comparing me to a dead antelope, and you said—,"

He interrupted in a huff, "Right, an antelope, I said antelopes are attractive. That was the real context. Get your facts straight."

Yamato was staring between them, his normally guarded expression slipping into genuine bewilderment. "What kinds of conversations do you two have?"

"Oh, that's not even the strangest of them," assured Koushiro dryly, shaking his head.

Mimi grinned over the top of her beer bottle, winking, and Taichi rolled his eyes, rubbing his face to hide the flustering blush. As the others laughed, Catherine slipped her hand over Taichi's, who squeezed back, distracted, and Mimi returned to her drink, blinking quickly.

"That's it!" shouted Daisuke suddenly from inside the apartment, and they all peered through the window.

"Oh, fuck," hissed Taichi, standing up to crawl back inside.

Curious, the others followed, faces blank when they reemerged inside the flat and could fully receive the sight before them. Daisuke was standing on top of his coffee table, elbows at an angle and hands on his hips, poised in a highly determined position that immediately had Taichi, Yamato, and Koushiro on alert. They glanced at each other while Daisuke went on, boasting loudly, "I'm going to win her back."

"And the night just gets better," said Yamato, while Koushiro winced.

Takeru, however, was clapping along enthusiastically, standing behind Daisuke on the floor and beaming like a proud father. "That's right, Daisuke! Go tell her how you feel!"

The crowd, taking Takeru's very obvious cues, began cheering along, making their host grin wider in glee at the support. Among more shouts and whistles, he called, "Let it be known that, I, Motomiya Daisuke, am not the other guy! I am _the_ guy!"

Taichi set his drink down on the table, approaching his friend with caution. "Daisuke, think about this before—,"

"I have thought about it!" he barked. "And I'm _done_ thinking! When has thinking ever worked out for me?"

"Well, to answer that, we first would need an example of you thinking," snapped Yamato, joining his best friend in trying to coax Daisuke down from the table.

He roared with obnoxious laughter, easily sidestepping out of each of their attempts to snag him down, which only served to feed the crowd's delight. "_Silence, unbeliever_!" he declared, shaking a foot in Yamato's face (an extremely dangerous move, and one that had Koushiro yanking Yamato back to keep him from retaliating). "This is a mission for destiny, for honor, and for love! Your blasphemous doubt has no place here!" And then he puffed up his chest once more, jumping down from the table. "Who's with me?"

The crowd burst into fresh cheers, Catherine clapped hand over her giggling mouth, and Takeru never looked more ecstatic in his life. Taichi caught his arm just as the young blond tried to slip by with the rest, and Takeru lowered his voice, "Who wouldn't want to see this train wreck in action?"

Yamato grabbed the back of Takeru's collar. "You instigated this, didn't you?"

"Oh, come on," protested his brother. "He'll sober up on the trek over, and by that time, I'll have gotten a free cab ride home. We're all winners!"

"Maybe we should go with them," suggested Catherine, "just in case?"

Koushiro nodded, warily eyeing Daisuke struggling to put on his shoes as a host of his friends raucously jostled back and forth in support of what was surely an homage to disaster.

"Where are we going?" chirped Mimi, squeezing in the middle of the group of friends.

"To help Daisuke reclaim the heart of his betrothed," said Takeru, "or die trying."

Mimi immediately cooed, face brightening, "Ooh, a romantic fantasy!"

"Fantasy is one word for it," remarked Yamato darkly, disgruntled. But the way he eyed Daisuke's fumbling attempts to walk drunkenly out the door softened his annoyance, and he nodded in agreement with Koushiro. "We can't let him go through with this."

"We'll go to make sure it doesn't get out of hand," agreed Koushiro.

Mimi was glancing between them, becoming more and more excited about the notion of travelling anywhere at all. "I want to come, too!"

Takeru grinned, clasping her hand, "'Course, you're coming. Daisuke'll need all the support he can when Miy—,"

And Taichi cut him off, snaking an arm around Mimi's waist and pulling her back from the blond at once. "On second thought, I think Daisuke's going to need some people here to hold down the fort."

Her fingers gripped his, clutching his arm tightly, "But I want to see—,"

"Don't you think he needs to have this place cleaned up for her when he brings her back?" pointed out Taichi, avoiding the others' puzzled gazes. "Maybe have something to eat ready for them?"

He'd discovered her weakness, and her eyes shone. "Yes! We should make something for them!"

Taichi was already carrying her to the kitchenette. "Absolutely." He deposited her in front of the fridge, letting her clumsily sort around inside, and turned back to the others. "You three go, I'll stay and make sure everyone else clears out. Give me a call when you manage to talk Daisuke back home, will you?" he asked of Koushiro.

The redhead promised he would, then added, "Then again, if it all does work out—,"

"It won't," muttered Yamato.

"—we'll bring back some champagne."

"And toast what has got to be the stupidest thing he's ever done," said Takeru with uncontained glee.

Yamato shoved him forward, marching him along after the crowd that had finally managed to squeeze out the door. "Don't think you're not getting out of this that easily. If we have to drag him back here, you're coming, too. This is not a free ride home."

His brother began to whine, pouting, "Aw, Yamato—,"

Taichi waved the trio off, shaking his head at what the evening was turning into, and with a sigh pulled out his phone to call for a taxi. Catherine cocked her head to the side, arms crossed with a small smile. "Do I get to stay, too, or is that taxi for me?"

He held out his hand to her and she took it, relieved. "I'm calling a cab for Mimi."

"She should have gone with the others, don't you think? She wanted to."

But he shook his head, distracted, scrolling through his contacts list for the local cab company name. "She doesn't know who it is, and this is not how she should find out, trust me. It's complicated. Being drunk and surprised is not a good combination, and I'd rather them avoid it."

Catherine was studying him carefully, her blue eyes tracing every expression he made. "I rather like how much you care about your friends."

He paused, hearing at last the affection in her voice and grinning. "Oh, you do?"

"Very much," she said, tilting her chin up for a kiss.

There was a crash as a plate shattered to the floor in the nearby kitchenette, alarming a few of the party attendees who has stayed behind.

Taichi separated from Catherine, sighing. "Everything okay, Mimi?" he called.

A long pause and then a rapid, series of breaking dishes answered him, filling the studio apartment with a cacophony of tableware disasters, one after another. Another long pause followed the last broken item, and Taichi shook his head, tapping his phone to his cheek with resignation. "Another reason not to let her join the drunk-train to terrible-decisions-town," he said, and Catherine tried to smile. "I'm sorry about all this. I promise this is not how I wanted our night to turn out."

"It's okay," she assured him, kissing his cheek. "You get this place ready for Daisuke's humiliated return, I'll get your place ready for your triumphant one. Sound fair?"

He cupped her chin, pulling her face swiftly towards him. "More than fair."

She grinned into his mouth, returning the kiss softly, before peeping back into the kitchenette to wave farewell to Mimi. The young woman was kneeling over the mess of broken dishes and glasses on the floor, looking guilt-stricken and on the verge of tears. When she attempted to wave goodbye to Catherine while crawling forward into the mess to reach out a hand to her, she was immediately ushered back by the both of them. Catherine assured her a handshake was not necessary while Taichi tried to get her away from the broken shards, both grabbing one of Mimi's hands each and leading her carefully around the mess without causing any more harm.

Catherine guided her to the couch, patting her shoulder affectionately, then reminded Taichi to bring her some water. They shared a brief kiss and Taichi saw her to the door, turning back to the rest of the partygoers. There were a handful of people left in the studio by then, despite the fact that the birthday boy himself had long since vacated. Taichi briefly wondered if he should be annoyed at having to babysit his friend's apartment for him like this, and then began devising plans for booting the last of the group out the door, when he realized in alarm that the couch was empty and Mimi was nowhere to be seen.

Panicked, he started for the kitchenette, kicking the broken dishes and cups into a small pile away from the entrance to minimize the danger, reemerging back into the main area of the studio and puzzling over how someone could even disappear in a space this tiny.

Then at last he saw her, on the floor again, crawling about the side of the far wall towards the windowsill. At one point she backed unknowingly into a drunk man with unkempt black hair and a wiry scowl, who seemingly thought he had been attacked by a rodent of some kind and proceeded to kick the offending animal away, continuing to chat with the other man in front of him. His heel was just about to crash into Mimi's skull when Taichi's hand stopped it, shoving his leg back and sending the man sprawling to his knees.

"What the hell, man?" he cried, shocked, words slurred.

"Just go home," Taichi told him shortly, irritable. "And that goes for everybody—party's over! Get out!"

A collective protest rumbled through the dispersing crowd, all of which Taichi ignored as he ushered them one by one from the apartment. After the last bumbling attendee had finally wandered from the flat, he shut the door in relief and turned back to the one person who had stayed behind.

Shaking his head, he picked up the last bottle of water from the drinks table and strode back to the wall where she was still crawling, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired and still fixated on her journey. "And where exactly are you going?"

"I'm looking."

He could barely hear her soft mumblings, so he dropped to a crouch, leaning into her. "For what?"

"The door."

Taichi stared. "To…what? Wonderland?"

She glared in disgust. "That's not a real place."

"Try telling that to a nine-year-old Hikari—,"

And Mimi shrieked, hand smacking into the air for emphasis, "She's a grown woman! You should let her be a grown woman! Stop being overprotective!"

"Whoa, hold on," interrupted an alarmed Taichi, hands up in his own defense. She had sat up, chest heaving from the sudden outburst. "I appreciate you defending my sister's right to maturity, but do you think we could have this roast of me not on the floor?"

She sat up straight. "We're not on the floor."

"Okay," he said with a sigh, rising slowly in defeat. He grasped her by the shoulders, lifting her easily. "Let's go sit on the couch, shall we? Drink some water?"

But Mimi immediately protested, dissolving into a crisis of anxiety and worry. Wringing her hands, she looked around the party with wounded concern. "But I can't sit on the couch. I tried to," she insisted, swiveling back towards him and gesturing earnestly, "I tried—but you were—and with—and I can't sit there and watch you—,"

"It's okay," he said, trying to sooth her stress. "The couch is free, the apartment is free, you can sit wherever you like and watch whatever you like, I promise."

She grew still, hands frozen against her chest. "Catherine's gone?" she asked, looking at him in a daze.

"Yeah." He reminded gently, as though speaking to an unusually slow child, "They've all left."

She was squinting at him, her face scrunched up like a fat, pink balloon, and he was unprepared for how difficult it was not to poke at a puffy cheek, to tweak at a pert nose, to tug at a loose strand of hair—to just _touch_ her.

She frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he smiled, bemused. "Are you?"

She did not explain the sudden concern, nodding enthusiastically. "We'll both be okay."

His expression remained bewildered, unable to keep up with her train of thought, assuming she had one to begin with. He didn't have time to consider it, because now she had slid her hands around his forearm, tugging him forward. "Sit with me?"

She didn't wait for a response, yanking him towards the open window. He stumbled after her, still holding onto the water bottle, but moving quickly when she nearly tripped through the open space and face-planted onto the fire escape. He caught her by the waist as she tumbled down, guiding her through the opening and onto the ramp outside.

"I think you're too drunk to be out here," laughed Taichi with a hint of real worry, righting her so she could lean safely against the wall of the building as he climbed out after her.

She pushed him back, fussily smacking away his hands. She spoke slowly, each word deliberate and a struggle. "Your face is drunk."

His eyebrow twitched at the comment, but he chose not to draw attention to it, letting her sink back against the wall with her eyes closed, relishing in the crisp night air. He scooted into the narrow space beside her, and she slid down until her cheek could rest on his elbow. He wiggled his arm a little, and her head bounced comically.

Suppressing the urge to laugh, he tried to keep his tone even, holding the bottle out to her. "Come on, sit up. Drink some water."

"Your face…drinks water," she mumbled.

"That's not entirely untrue," he allowed. He slipped his arm around her back, hoisting her up properly this time. Even after he succeeded in getting her to sit, she continued murmuring pitifully in weak protest, leaning back so his arm was pinned around her waist.

The back of her head hit the wall and she groaned. "I made everyone uncomfortable after he opened his present, didn't I?"

"Don't go taking all the credit," said Taichi, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle with his free hand. "Koushiro told some terrifically unfunny jokes after you left that deserve some of the blame, too. Why else do you think Daisuke and Takeru went back inside?"

She pushed the water bottle away when he offered it, making a face so childish that he chuckled and set the drink down on the floor rather than try again. Her chin drooped to the side and she peered up at him with round, watery eyes, lip quivering. "Do you think anyone noticed that I was sad?"

"Nah," he lied, extracting his arm from behind her at last and clasping them between his knees for warmth. "I wouldn't worry, Mimi. Trust me, no one really noticed."

Her nose wrinkled slightly as she sniffled. "You noticed."

"Yeah, well," but he couldn't finish the thought, smirk plastered hastily.

So Mimi finished it for him, cuddling her chin into the muscled curve of his arm, gaze unwavering. "Because you're always looking at me."

He fell silent, heart dimming.

"It's okay," she whispered, mouth lingering against his cheek. Her hand searched its way to his, fingertips grazing his knee in a way that made him suck in his breath. "I look at you, too."

The world shrank, and grew, and came to life.


End file.
